The Third Brother
by RavenOfFrost
Summary: Moriarty is back and this time, he's got something bigger planned as a strange reunion between the three Holmes Brothers takes place. Tragedy strikes, leaving John in a state of utter anger and confusion as revenge is boiling in his system. While the brothers and Watson try to stop the criminal, there may be more that meets the eye about the third brother. Takes place after S3.
1. Prologue

**No one belongs to me besides the unfamiliar. Characters belongs to BBC and Sir Conan Doyle.**

**Also, think of Tom Hiddleston as the third brother to give you a better image.**

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><p>It was at one in the morning when another crime was solved and all the police had to do was arrest the man. Too tired to hardly think after the crime, John Watson headed to a cab that his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, hailed and patted him weakly on the shoulder. "You go home, mate," he said with tired eyes and a lazy smile. "I'm going home to Mary."<p>

The consulting detective looked at him with uncertain eyes as him taken aback from his words. "Are you sure? You look like you're going to pass on the way there."

He waved his hand. "I'm sure." All he wanted to do was shove Sherlock in the cab so he could go get his own, go home, then flop in bed with his wife and sleep. "Now get in the bloody cab," he lightly ordered with tired eyes and the kindest smile he could make. He was fine during the case, but after it was solved, his brain was absolutely done and just wanted to go home.

Sherlock gave a small nod. "Good-night, John." Then climbed in the cab.

"Night," he muttered as the door closed and the taxi pulled away. He stood around, waiting for another cab to show up, but instead, a black car pulled up.

The passenger window rolled down. "Need a lift?" A smooth voice asked.

John got eye-level with the driver and made out that he had a narrow face, short curly hair, and light-colored eyes from the lights of the car's glowing nobs and whatnot on the dash. It looked to be that he was also wearing a black suit. The doctor shook his head. "Waiting for a cab, thanks."

"You may want to get in, Mr. Watson." His voice grew colder.

John's tired mind grew shaper at the sound of his own name as his eyes narrowed at the strange man. "Who are you?"

"I'll explain and no, I'm not here to kidnap or kill you."

Feeling that something was to be trusted about this man's words, he silently opened the back door and climbed in. After he closed the door and buckled up, he looked at the driver, only seeing the side of his narrow jawline. "Who are you?" He repeated as the car began to pull away from the curb. "If Mycroft wanted to see me, he could've waited until morning." He forced himself not to yawn, remembering how tired he was.

"What makes you think that this is Mycroft's doing?" The driver asked in a low and smooth voice as his light-colored eyes glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

John took a breath as he was becoming more aware, not taking his eyes off the strange driver. "You have a similar style of picking me up." He paused, then realized of another alternative. "If you say you work for Moriarty…"

He gave small shrug as his eyes returned to the road. "You could say that."

The doctor placed a hand on his forehead as he rested his elbow on the door. "Oh, God," he muttered.

Jim Moriarty- thought to be dead for three years- turned up to be actually alive six months ago, back to create havoc, mayhem, and death wherever he goes. Sherlock, Mycroft, and John himself have been trying to track the consulting criminal down since he returned, but is harder than ever to track down. Now here is the doctor was… Getting picked up by one of the criminal's men.

"Well, not exactly," the driver stated, catching the passenger's attention.

John looked at him with wonder as he raised his head. "What do you mean _not exactly_?"

"They haven't mentioned me, have they?" He glanced back at the mirror, then to the street.

"They who?"

"The Holmes Brothers."

John looked at him in utter confusion as he pursed out his lips, waiting for an answer.

The driver glanced back at him as if waiting for him to answer.

"You are…" John pulled back his head slightly as he was thinking of what Mycroft and Sherlock would say about a man who is "not exactly" working for Moriarty. "A driver for Mycroft who acts like Moriarty's men, so you are a double agent?" He tried with that guess. Knowing Mycroft Holmes, the elder brother of the detective, he would have the doctor picked up in a black car like this. It did make sense.

The driver got a smile out of that guess. "That was actually pretty good. You could say that I'm a double agent," then his voice dropped, "but I would not say it out loud or to other people."

"Then who are you?" John aced, not taking his eyes off the strange man.

He saw the man's jaw open as if to speak, then softly announced, "I'm the third Holmes brother."

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><p><strong>Will update soon.<strong>


	2. Chapter 1

Being too tired to even think, the doctor flopped in bed beside his very pregnant wife and quickly fell asleep. In the morning, however, was a different story. The driver last night claimed to be the third brother of Mycroft and Sherlock, who never mentioned such a thing to him. He said that he was middle child and had yet to even tell his name. John was not allowed to ask Sherlock or anyone about him and had to wait when the right moment occurred. He told the doctor that he'll know when that happens, but John wanted to demand to Sherlock about this third brother if there ever was one. It did make sense, though, that Mycroft was ten years older, but what was the reason behind keeping their own brother a secret.

John wanted to tell someone about this, but he could tell no one, not even his beloved wife, who was sitting across from him at the table eating breakfast. He tried to act normal and not think about anything, but that was the hard part. He just wanted to grab his phone and call his best friend, asking him questions about a third brother.

"So, I was thinking," Mary began with a smile, breaking his thoughts, "I'm going to go with the girls today to let you do whatever you want." She then lightly gasped in realization. "Oh, I forgot. How was the case last night?" She looked at him with gentle blue eyes and a loving smile.

The doctor nodded at his wife. "It was good. Yeah. Very good." He drew his cup of tea to his lips.

"Who was it?" She eagerly asked as she leaned forward, staring at him with an impatient smile as she was biting her lip.

It always amused him how she got excited about the cases like it's her own personal crime show.

"It was actually the sister," he answered as he placed his cup down.

"No," she whispered in disappointment as she leaned back in her chair. "That's sad. Really?" She looked at him with heartfelt eyes. "That's sad."

"Yep. Her own sister," he replied with a deep breath as he looked at his tea.

It wasn't the sister who had died, it was her husband of two months killed by her brother due to jealousy. As sad as it was, it was not the first that something as sad happened in their career.

"Well, that's a shame," Mary sighed as she picked up her own cup of tea.

"Yeah," he muttered, not really paying attention as his mind went to the memories of what happened after the case. Then looked at his wife. "You said that you're going out today?"

Mary nodded. "Yeah. With the girls."

"Alright." He nodded as he sipped on some tea.

Then he heard his phone sound from the kitchen counter sound, notifying that he got a text. Excusing himself from the table, he made his way to the counter that was close by, seeing that it was Sherlock, he read the text. He closed the phone and sighed. "Sherlock needs me and I need to go." He grabbed his keys that were in arms reach off the counter, and headed for the coatrack to grab his tan coat.

"What is it?" Mary asked as she looked over her shoulder at him.

He walked up to her and kissed her cheek. "He's Sherlock. He never says what, just come." He headed for the door. "Have fun, love."

"Bye!"

Then he was out the door to the car.

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><p>On his way to Baker Street, John was hoping that Sherlock somehow knew about last night and about this third "brother" of his. Soon he'll know what the detective wants. When he arrived, he calmly made his way to the flat, expecting to find the two brothers, but as usual, it was just Sherlock laying on the couch with his hands together in front of his lips. "Could you pass me a pen?"<p>

John just stood at the doorway, and slowly closed it as he was trying to make sense of his friend, knowing that there was no sense to him at all. "A pen?" He repeated, slightly leaning forward.

"Yes, a pen," Sherlock answered with dryly with annoyance. "Do I really need to repeat myself?"

"You told me to come here to hand you a _pen_?" This was not the first time his friend asked him to do something like this, but it never ceased to amaze him.

"Yes."

John sighed as he rolled his eyes, staggering to the table to pick a pen up and toss it to his friend, who caught it in midair. "Anything else?" He asked with dry sarcasm, hoping that there wasn't.

"No," the detective answered as if bored as he drew his hand back to his lips.

"Is that really it?"_ All this way for a bloody pen?_

Sherlock looked at him with his pale-blue eyes as if he was deducing. "You are keeping something from me." His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why?"

Before John could open his mouth, Sherlock's phone went off.

The detective picked it off the floor beside the couch and began to read a text. "Oh," he chirped. "Molly just got new eyeballs for me. Good." He began to text something, closed the phone, and placed it back on the floor. "In a hour I am going to pick them up."

"Experiment?" He dumbly asked.

"Of course." He looked at him. "Want to come?"

John shook his head, not interested at all. "Naw."

Sherlock looked back at the ceiling. "Shame."

The doctor looked down, wondering if he should bring up the strange man or not. He knew Sherlock had the right to know, but the man could be lying. It seemed like he wasn't or he was just a very excellent liar. Either way, Sherlock had to know. He looked at his friend and right when he was about to open his mouth, Sherlock got another text, making him close it again. He watched the detective read the text and saw that his eyes slightly grew, then relaxed. He slowly sat up, rereading the text.

"Something wrong?" He asked, hoping that there wasn't trouble that they needed to rush to.

"Someone wants to meet me tonight."

"Who?"

"Don't know. Unknown number," he murmured, then began to reply.

"It might be Moriarty."

"It's not. Moriarty wouldn't be straightforward." He hit the "send" button. "This one is straight to the point. 'Available tonight at your flat for a meeting? Either way, I'm coming. Just be there.'"

"Sounds like Mycroft," John muttered as his eyes faded away from his friend, wondering if it was the man that claimed to be the third brother.

Sherlock said nothing as he got a instant reply.

"What now?" John asked, returned his gaze back to the detective.

"I said that I was available and he replied with 'Good. Make sure John is there.'" He began to type a reply and sent it. "Told him that you were."

"Yeah," he muttered, knowing that Sherlock would say that without asking if the doctor had any plans with his pregnant wife. Good thing he didn't, otherwise she might be in one of those unfriendly moods and would hate to make her unhappy.

Another instant reply.

"'Good. See you at eight.' Looking… Forward… to it," he murmured as he typed, then closed the phone.

John's own phone then went off, making him pull it out from his coat. When he saw the unknown number, his blood ran cold. "Mary," he told Sherlock, to reassure his friend. He opened the phone and read the text:

_Did you tell him?_

Knowing what the writer meant, he simply typed. "No."

"How is Mary?" Sherlock's voice broke into his thoughts.

John smiled at him. "Good. She's just going with some friends right now."

"Send her my love."

"Will do." Then remembered that he had to be here at eight, he texted his wife to tell her that he'll be gone till later tonight and got a response, saying "Okie-dokie" with a smilie face.


	3. Chapter 2

The morning's light was bright as ever as it was pouring into the manor of Mycroft Holmes. The British government was reading the paper at the dinner table with a cup of tea by his side. Pointless media and news was just flooding the paper as usual as nothing caught the man's eye. He gracefully picked up the cup and drew it to his lips just as a young woman walked in.

"Sir," Anthea began as she was not looking at her phone for once as it was in her hand at her side, being in a serious manner. Her brown eyes looked confused and uncertain. "Someone wants to see you."

Mycroft gave a false smile as he lowered his cup, still reading the newspaper. "Tell them to go away because I don't want to see anyone."

"I tried to, Sir, but they were… Persistant."

He took a deep breath as he gave her the same bitter smile. "Then tell them to make an appointment." He returned to the paper as he sipped on his tea.

He saw on the corner of his eye Anthea step aside, then a low, smooth voice spoke as another figure stepped in, "Oh, please, brother. Would you really keep me waiting?"

Mycroft raised his head with bored eyes and a thin smile that slowly disappeared and eyes got wider at the sight of the man.

Standing before him was a tall, lean man with short curly, brown hair. His suit was dark blue with a white undershirt. A narrow jaw line along with light colored eyes. Eyes that he would recognize anywhere. The older man slowly stood up in utter disbelief as the younger man just patiently stared at him. "Hello, Mycroft," he said in a low, smooth voice.

Mycroft then sighed as he lightly placed a hand to his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Dropping by to see my older brother." He had a kind smile on his narrow face.

He looked at the man with boredom as the shock left. "What is that you want? Is Moriarty planning to take down the whole of England? Because we already knew that one." He then stared at him darkly. "Or are you?"

"Not this time," he chuckled looking down, then back at him with a smile. Then his smile faded. "Mycroft. Moriarty is planning something. I need to speak to you and Sherlock."

Mycroft gave a snort of amusement. "Sherlock? Why in the world would you-"

"I spoke to his friend. John Watson."

His smile disappeared as he listened.

"I told him of me, but not my name."

"This must be serious." He then glared at his missing, young brother. "Then tell me, Sherrinford, what is happening?" Six months Moriarty had returned and there was no telling of what he was planning. Mycroft did everything his could within his power to find the criminal, but nothing has come up. He was at wits end and time was running out. Even Sherlock didn't even know what to do and they both hated waiting.

"I can't tell you," he sadly smiled. "I'm putting my life in danger as it is. I am going to organize to see Sherlock and Watson at eight tonight. You must come."

"If I can't?" He dryly asked, hoping that he didn't have to go. Yes, it was important, but Sherlock was the detective.

Then I'll have to postpone until you can." He looked him in the eyes, waiting for an answer.

Mycroft knew that he would be hounded about this meeting if he didn't go, but he didn't trust his brother. Sherlock hasn't seen him for over eight years. Since he's back, Mycroft knew that this had to be serious. Sherrinford had never been on the side of the government, but the two brothers made a deal eight years ago, allowing the middle brother to be a double-agent, but would not hesitate to throw him behind bars if necessary. He would never, however, had thought that he would work for a evil mastermind, but not surprised. "Very well," he sighed. "I'll be at Baker Street. Eight you said?"He asked, tired and bored of the conversation.

"Yes. I will contact Watson and Sherlock."

"Do you have their number?"

"It's not that hard to get two simple numbers," he smirked with humor.

The older brother sat down. "Then good luck." He chuckled with amusement. "Sherlock will certainly be surprised to see you again."

Sherrinford smirked with agreement. "That would be quite the sight." He sighed. "I best be off." He began to turn away as he gave his bother one last look. "I'll see you tonight, brother?"

Mycroft gave a fake happy smile. "See you, dear brother."

He the turned and walked out of the dining room.

The eldest brother chuckled smugly as he looked away. He thought for sure that the next time he would see Sherrinford would be a dead corpse with a bullet to the head and Sherlock would be anther body in an alley from a chase-gone-wrong or an overdose.

So far, he was wrong.

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><p>John was just sitting in his chair as Sherlock was sitting on the couch, waiting for their guest to arrive. It was five minutes to eight and John didn't know what to expect. This man claimed to be Sherlock's brother and what if he really was? What would Sherlock say if anything at all? What would Mycroft say about it? The two sat in silence as the minutes ticked by. Then at eight sharp, there was a knock on the door. The detective was about to stand up, but the door opened to Mycroft. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me it was you who sent the text."<p>

Mycroft had a smile that was beaming with falseness. "No, little brother. It wasn't. It was, however, the _other _one."

John looked at his friend, seeing that his expression went to the hidden look of surprise, but unamused. He looked back at Mycroft, who seemed to be studying his brother.

The older brother walked in the flat as another tall and lean man walked in a humorous smirk. "Hello, Sherlock."

The doctor looked back at his friend and saw that his eyes grew slightly, but wanted to keep it hidden.

The third brother then looked at John himself, who just looked at him with confusion. "John Watson."

"Um," John cleared his throat. "Hi again." Clearly not knowing what to say. It felt like he didn't belong in this Holmes reunion, but knew that he had to stay, even if he wasn't that important for this part.

"'Again'?" Sherlock whipped his head at him with utter bafflement, then looked at his second brother.

"Actually he drove me home," the doctor answered meekly. He then stood up, turning to the unknown brother. "But we never properly introduced."

"Sherrinford," he answered as he offered a hand, which John accepted. "The middle born of the Holmes." He then turned to his little brother with amusement in his smile. "How is my dear little brother doing? It's been awhile since I saw you."

"I'm alive, aren't I?" He dryly answered. He quickly scanned his brother. "And I can see that you've been getting your hands dirty," he murmured. "As usual. Working for Moriarty, I see?"

"You always were good at deduction." He then smirked as he glanced at the eldest. "Better than Mycroft ever was."

Mycroft scoffed at that as he narrowed his eyes. "I taught him what he knows and you know that, _little_ brother."

John just stood there, looking at each other three brothers each time one would talk about practicing deduction. Then there was finally a pause, he asked, "How long has it been since you saw each other last?"

"Ten years," they all answered simultaneously, staring at each other as if they were studying their next moves like in a game of three-way Chess.

The doctor just said, "Ah," allowing the three brothers to get back to their stares. He then looked at Sherlock with wonder, hoping that he wasn't breaking anything in any of the Holmes' minds. "And why didn't you-"

"I thought it wasn't important," he coldly answered, not taking his eyes off the third brother, who was glancing at him and Mycroft. "I honestly thought I was never going to see him again. Should've known Mycroft was keeping tabs on him."

"I wasn't," the eldest answer with irritation. "It wasn't part of the deal. If it was I would. It's my job to look after my little brothers." He looked at the two like a disappointed parent.

Sherrinford rolled his eyes like a child who didn't want to listen to his eldest.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the middle born. "Against the government, I see."

He turned to the detective. "You're not fond of them either."

"Yes, but I'm not working for Moriarty. Not surprised to see you are, however."

John turned his attention to the third brother, remembering that he told him that he was a double-agent in a way, but was there more to it?

Sherrinford slightly bowed his head, but didn't take his gaze off the detective. "I am doing that for a reason. You knew I'm a double-agent. Mostly for your side."

"Good to hear," there was dryness. "And obviously you came here for that reason." Sherlock slowly sat on the couch, not taking his eye off his mysterious brother as he placed his fingertips together.

"Moriarty is planning something," his voice dropped as he stared into Sherlock's pale eyes. "It's something that only could be stopped by you. I am risking my life by even being here."

"Obviously," Sherlock muttered.

The doctor couldn't tell if his friend cared or not about his brother by that statement. It was his brother, so he did care, right? But it seemed that Sherrinford Holmes has quite the reputation. He just sat back in his chair, studying the three brothers with wonder and curiosity. He knew that they were no doubt related by the three of them would just act and speak. Sherlock was the heartless one. Mycroft was the cold one. Sherrinford seemed to be the dark or the mystery one. They didn't even know if their own brother should be trusted.

"So Moriarty wants to cause chaos as usual and wants me to try to stop him," Sherlock repeated as he leaned back in the leather couch. "And you are risking your own life by even being here." His eyes began to see things that no one else could as they grew distant. "You have a fake name, obviously, and no one knows you really are. When I mean by that, I mean by who your genius brother is." He then rolled his eyes. "And the British Government," he hissed with annoyance.

Mycroft gave him a fake smile of graciousness.

"So you will not be surprised," the detective continued, "that you may be killed by the next week. Honestly, I'm surprised to see you still alive. No offense," he coldly stated as his gaze returned to his brother.

"Likewise, Sherlock," Sherrinford smoothly retorted.

"As am I," he muttered. Then he popped his lips. "Well, then." He dropped his hands on his lap. "We'll keep in touch as you try not to get yourself killed. I may need the eye-in-the-inside."

"Will do." He and Mycroft headed for the door. "It was good seeing you again, little brother."

"Likewise."

Then the two brothers walked out the door, closing it from behind.

John was about to open his mouth, then Sherlock stood up and walked to his violin. "You can go home now," he stated as he picked up his instrument and bow off the table, placing it on his shoulder. "I need to think."

"But he's your bro-"

"Another cross I have to bare," he darkly stated as he began to play a soft tune.

John stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Possibly."

The doctor headed for the door without saying another word and left.


	4. Chapter 3

John returned home with a baffled mind, still disbelieving that Sherlock, his best friend, had a third brother and didn't even tell him. Sherrinford seemed to be a very interesting character, but there was something about him that the doctor couldn't quite place. The two other brothers seemed like the middle was an outcast, who seemed to have a history of being on not the right side. Sounded like they didn't even trust him, but he is still a brother and seemed like that he, too, wanted Moriarty to be stopped. Either way, John was going to get some answers from Sherlock tomorrow… Hopefully.

When he opened the door to his flat, Mary walked out from the bedroom to him with a smile. "Hi," she greeted with a kiss. "How's Sherlock?"

"Hi." He closed the door and admired his pregnant wife with love, then lightly shook his head, returning to her question. "Um… Sherlock has a third brother."

"What?" She crossed her arms as she took a step back, slightly tilting her head to the side with wondrous smile. "Really? What's he like?" There was humor and amusement in her brown eyes.

"His name is Sherrinford and he is…" His raised his arms then dropped them to his sides. "I don't know. All I know is that he works with Moriarty and is the middle child. That is all I know." He began to remove his coat and hang it on the rack beside the door. There was a reason why Sherlock didn't mention him at all. He knew there was.

"He works for Moriarty?"

"Double-agent." He took a breath as he looked at his wife. "I guess he works for Mycroft as well." He then muttered as he looked away, "But I think more for the enemy."

"What do you mean?" She asked as seriousness was in her tone, wanting to know exactly what was going on. She always was interested in the boys' cases and was really fond of Sherlock. It always made John feel… Happy in a way that his wife understood their cases and the lives of the detective and his blogger.

John looked at his wife in the eyes. "I really don't know. He is different. He's like the opposite of Sherlock. He seems like he can't be trusted and even Sherlock and Mycroft don't seem to trust him either." He then smirked, "I mean, they haven't seen each other for ten yeas."

Mary crossed her arms as her gaze looked away. "That is a bit weird," she murmured in agreement. Then she smiled and looked at him with a more uplifting gaze. "Sherlock will tell you more soon. I know he will"

He took a heavy sigh. "I hope so." He knew that his friend was secretive and didn't know how much Sherlock will tell about Sherrinford Holmes, but he knew that his friend would tell him anything if it was very important or if he felt like it was the right thing to do because he'll be hounded if he didn't. John then kissed his wife. "Never mind that now." He wrapped his arms around her as he walked behind her and placed a hand on her large belly. "A week left," he whispered softly with a smile at the thought.

"Thank God," she chuckled. "I'm tried of carrying extra weight around." She then smiled with love in her eyes as she placed a hand over her husband's. "But yeah," she gently said. "A week left and we'll hold our little one."

John kissed her neck lovingly and lightly rested his head on her lean shoulder, just savoring her love as always. Even though she was an ex-assassin and shot his best friend, he loved her. He loved her and Sherlock killed to protect them both.

"We still have to name her," his wife softly stated with a smile.

John chuckled as he raised his head in a tired manner. "I really have no idea. How many names did we go through? A hundred?"

"We'll know it when we see her," she soothed with a smile as she leaned into her beloved. "I love you, John."

"I love you, too." He kissed her head and continued to hold her for another moment.

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><p>It was ten in the morning when John went over to Baker Street and sure enough, Sherrinford was sitting in front of Sherlock, who was leaning back in his favorite chair, staring at his brother with his fingertips together. The doctor was puzzled to see the older brother again, but got over it off as he closed the door.<p>

"Hello, John," the brother acknowledged without looking at him as if the two brothers were studying one another.

Getting caught off guard from seeing the other brother so soon, all he could say was, "Um… Hi."

Sherrinford looked over at him with an amused smile. "Surprised to see another brother?"

"You could say that," he commented as his glanced at his friend, who began to stand.

"Well," the detective began. "My brother was telling me that Moriarty is indeed planning something, but can't say what it is yet."

"I don't know myself," the older Holmes brother added as he stood up, looking at the two of them. "My little brother and I were merely catching up on things." He smiled at his young brother, who rolled his eyes.

"Please. You act as if you missed out a lot," he stated dryly.

"I did. I'm actually surprised that John managed to get you off the drugs."

John looked at his friend as the dark cloud of the memories washed over him and saw that Sherlock looked away at his brother's words.

"I thought for sure you would overdose."

"Well," the detective gave his brother a cold gaze, "I hate to disappoint you, but I obviously didn't. I'm actually surprised to see that you are still alive yourself considering you didn't get gunned down by the cops or the enemy."

John looked at Sherrinford, who just smirked. "I came close, but obviously I wasn't."

"Sorry for changing the light subject," John began as he looked at the two Holmes' brothers, wanting to get to the serious subject, "but when we are we going to find out what Moriarty is planning?"

"Whenever I can," the second brother answered, earning his attention. "I'll keep in touch with my dear brother of mine." He gave a false grin at Sherlock, but it wasn't the grin that Mycroft would use. It was more of a sly grin. A grin that raised the doctor's suspicions.

Sherlock just looked at him with narrowed, unamused eyes.

"Well, I better be going," the older brother sighed. "Got work to do."

"Meaning work for Moriarty?" Sherlock asked as John stepped aside to allow the brother to pass and watched the sly brother.

Sherrinford stopped at the door and gave his little brother a smirk. "Don't you trust me, Sherlock?"

"Mycroft dones't trust you. Only with that agreement you two made."

He smiled with reassurance. "Don't worry, dear brother. I won't send you and your companion to your deaths."

John cleared his throat and muttered, "Cheers."

He gave them a final smirk, opened the door, walked out, then closed the door behind.

"What did he mean by that?" John suddenly asked as he stared at his friend, waiting for an answer. He wanted to know more about this third brother and fast before something bad happens. There definitely something off about him and he wanted to know what exactly happened between the three brothers.

Sherlock sighed as he walked to his chair and waved him off. "He's just being Sherrinford."

"No," he snapped as he turned to his friend. "There obviously is something going on between the three of you and I want to know why you never told me that you had a third brother." There was no way he was going to let this go unexplained and Sherlock knew that.

The detective sat down with a deep breath and leaned back in causal manner, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as John continued to stare at him, waiting for an explanation. "Ten years ago, Sherrinford got tangled with the wrong people. Criminals to be exact. He went to prison for a year due to good behavior and Mycroft did some interfering. Otherwise he'd be there longer. Then there were fears that he was going turn against his own brothers which Mother did not want at all. Sherrinford didn't want to be a disgrace nor anger Mother, but didn't want to stop living his life of crime either."

"So he made a deal with Mycroft," John quietly stated as he was putting things together.

"Exactly. Seeing that there was money from both ways, Sherrinford decided to help both sides, but in the end would be loyal to his word to Mycroft."

"Now he's tangled with Moriarty," John said heavily.

"Yes, but so far he still seems to be true to his word." He looked at the doctor with reassuring eyes.

"How did he get with Moriarty anyway?" He looked at his friend in a pondering manner.

"He said he wouldn't want Moriarty taking down England, so he began to play on his side to learn more."

"How long was he-"

"Only recently. He knew that he faked his death, but was sworn into secrecy." His pale eyes looked away as if disappointed, but understood the situation. "He's going under a fake name with Moriarty, but won't tell me what. Afraid that his boss will find out."

"And if he does…" John's voice faded as he knew what was going to happen.

"He'll kill him." Sherlock placed his fingers to his mouth as if he dreaded that to happen, which he would, of course. That was his brother after all.

John took a breath. "Another thing… You act like he tried to kill you or something," he smirked, trying to lighten the comment as he didn't want to offend his friend.

"Not me, but he did threaten to kill."

"Mycroft?"

"God, no. Just people when he was an amateur criminal."

"What is he now?"

"A masterminded, double-agent." He looked up at him with eyes that were stating fact.

John sighed as he understood. "For his own use."

"Money and amusement." He looked back ahead of himself as he began to ponder and John just stood there, slowly nodding his head as he was getting a better understanding of Sherrinford Holmes.


	5. Chapter 4

A week had past and there was no word from Sherrinford about Moriarty's whereabouts. Instead at sitting in the flat and being bored, the detective decided to had to the morgue to work on some experiments to pass time. Molly Hooper, the pathologist, would assist in anyway that she could. Even if it meant by handing him a pen that was a foot in front of him. The young woman would shyly smile of at the detective as she would try not to ramble, but when she would, he would tell her to be quiet.

"Sorry," she gently apologized as she was about to turn away to get back to paperwork.

"No, it's fine." He cleared his throat as he was dissecting a human heart, not wanting to sound too kind.

Molly looked at him with a small smile. "So I heard that you have a third brother."

"You heard correctly," he muttered, paying attention to the task in front of him. The other day he and John were talking in the lab about his brother and it was starting to make his friend lose his mind about the wait about the news of Moriarty's plans. Sherlock was losing patience himself, but understood the situation.

"What's he like?"

"He's…" He tried to think of simple and "nice" way of describing his brother. "Sherrinford," he answered, not able to think of a word to describe his double-agent brother. He certainly didn't want to complement or insult him.

"Will I be able to meet-"

"No."

She looked at him with taken aback expression at the abrupt answer.

Realizing that he was too sharp, he said more gently, "I mean, you don't want to. He isn't like Mycroft. He's… Deceitful."

She gave a small smile. "The opposite of you."

Sherlock raised his head and looked at her with wondrous agreement. "You could say that, couldn't you?" Molly was always a good friend of his and he knew about the immense feelings that she had toward him, but that's all they were… Feelings. And he felt nothing toward her, but kindness.

Molly took a deep breath with concern in her eyes. "What are you going to do about Moriarty?"

"Whatever I can when I find out more about his plans." He returned to the heart. Sherrinford would contact him to tell him that he had yet to find out about his plans, but didn't know when he will be able to and was aware that sooner the better. If his brother was more on Moriarty's side, he didn't know what he would do then. A hand was placed on his wrist, making him look in the brown eyes of Molly.

"You'll stop him," she said gently. "I believe that you will." Her eyes were light and trusting. There wasn't love, but there was true trust.

The detective gave a small, gracious dip of the head. "Thank you, Molly," he lowly replied as he didn't break their gaze. "I appreciate it." She was always one of the ones that stood by his side and always believed in him.

The pathologist gave a gentle smile as she began to turn away, her hand sliding off his wrist.

He was about to return back to his work, until she chuckled. He looked at her with curiosity. "What's so funny?"

Molly lightly shook her head as she looked down. "I can't believe I dated him."

"Who? Tom?" He took a deep great has he returned to the heart. "You were engaged to him if you don't remember-"

"Not him," she stated. "Moriarty. Jim from IT."

That short memory returned to his mind. "Oh." He then looked at her inquisitively as she was looking at him. "Yes. How did you end up with him again?"

She gave a small shrug. "I thought he was nice." Her smile faded as heartache came over her, making her look away and said in a hushed voice, "Meanwhile he actually wanted to kill you."

"You didn't know. You did break up him shortly." He gave shrug returning to the heart as he wanted to go back to his experiment. "It wasn't that bad."

"But he used me to get to you." She sounded surprised.

"We would've met either way. Just not that time," he stated. Even if she didn't went out with him for a couple of dates, they would have still encountered. There was no reason for her to mope about a couple of dates with a criminal mastermind. She didn't know and it wouldn't have changed anything if they didn't date. The detective couldn't understand why she was being hard on herself, but then again, it was Molly Hooper.

"But what if I was still dating him?" She cried, catching his attention. "What if I was still dating him with he nearly killed John? What if that I liked him so much that I just stayed with him and didn't know what he was-"

He looked at her coldly, wanting her to stop this over-thinking. "You would've known."

Molly just looked at him with wide eyes that were gleaming with surprise and worry as she listened.

"I would've told you."

"What if I didn't believe you?" Her voice was quiet.

Sherlock strongly answered, "You would've." He returned to his dissecting. "There would be no way that I would let you date a consulting criminal. I don't care how happy you are with him. Your safety comes first." He was never fond of getting sentimental, but there were times that he had to and this was one of those times. Molly Hooper would forget how important she is to him and had to be reminded once or twice. She alway counted and if it wasn't fir her, he probably wouldn't even be here today.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

He looked at her as her words caught him off guard, then replayed them in his head as he didn't want her to repeat them. "You're welcome," he softly replied and returned to cutting the heart open, getting into the chambers of the organ. At that moment, his phone went off for a text. "Could you get that?"

"Where is it?" The pathologist asked.

"Shirt pocket," he casually answered as he was too busy paying attention to his incisions.

The pathologist pulled out his phone from his breast pocket and offered it to him.

"Busy. Answer it," he ordered, not looking at it, but paying attention to the heart.

"It's from Sherrinford."

His eyes slightly grew. "What does he say?" He asked as he dropped his utensils and began to remove the elastic gloves.

"'Sherlock. I found nothing of his plans so far. I believe he is on to me.'"

Sherlock raised his eyes from the heart as he mind began to think.

This was not good.

How did his brother get found out so quickly? He should have know what he was doing. It didn't make any sense! What did Sherrinford do? No. He didn't mess up. Moriarty was on to him. That only meant that he was getting suspicious, so Sherrinford just had to prove his loyalty.

His loyalty.

Without saying a word, Sherlock snatched his phone from her hands, jumped off the stool, stormed to his coat that was draped on another stool at the end of the counter, and threw it on. "Keep that heart for me. I'm not done with it," he quickly ordered to the pathologist and stormed out of the lab, immediately replying back to his brother.

* * *

><p>Molly just stood there, watching the doors close behind the detective. She wanted to help him, but knew that she couldn't. Not this time. The pathologist took the heart from the tray and began to placed it in the nearby jar to preserve it until the scientist returned to his work. He told her was that he was bored of his other experiments and she had a heart for him. She chuckled as she was admiring the precision cuts into the heart. He was so detailed and intricate and just brilliant. But everyone knew that.<p>

She remembered when she heard that Moriarty was back how surprised and angry that he was alive, but she felt like she had to thank him in a way. Before punching him dead in the face multiple times. John explained to her that if it wasn't for his return, Sherlock would've been banished. They both knew the detective didn't want people to know, but the doctor felt that it was right that she knew. She was grateful that he did tell her. Otherwise, she'd be the last to know probably and would wonder where the detective was. When she saw the detective after the short story, she tried not to hug him as she was proud of him for protecting John and his wife. He was the most protecting person she had ever met and one of the reasons that she loved him.

The pathologist chuckled to herself as she picked up the heart in the jar. "Sherlock Holmes," she murmured quietly to herself. "You unpredictable and genius man." She loved Sherlock. He knew that, but that's all it was going to be. Just knowing. It was pathetic and would tried to fall in love again, but her fiancé broke up with her seven months ago. It broke her heart and was left to have those same feelings for the brilliant detective. Lightly shaking the hopeless thoughts from her head, she proceeded to place the jar into the cooler, allowing it to wait for the scientist to return to his work.


	6. Chapter 5

John burst through the flat's door as if there was a fire and just stared at Sherlock with large eyes, who was just playing his violin. "What happened?" He quickly asked as he closed the door. "You told me come over urgently and you are playing the violin." He stared at his friend as he began to relax, seeing that there was no horrible issue occurring.

Sherlock was just playing a soft melody with his back to him, making his friend wait for a response. "My brother needs to prove his loyalty," he finally answered in a low, baritone voice.

"What?"

"Sherrinford was asking too many questions. He was an idiot to do so and he knew it." There was venom in his voice.

"So what is he going to do?"

"We are going to have to wait longer."

John moaned with annoyance as he rolled his head. "Are you joking?" He looked back at him. "Moriarty could be building a bomb for all we know and here we are _waiting_? And your brother is screwing up?" He stared at his friend with disbelief. How could he be so calm? This was a time to be frustrated! No, he knew Sherlock. His mind was racing, but he looked calm as ever on the outside. That's how he is. He sighed, trying to relax himself. "I know you are thinking about this, but is there something else? Anything?"

"No," he darkly answered.

He nodded, accepting the answer in defeat.

Then his phone went off.

John pulled it from his coat pocket and answered it when he saw that it was Mary. "Hello?"

His eyes grew wide. "Okay. Okay. I'm coming. Listen to me, I'm coming." He quickly hung up and rushed for the door.

"John?" Sherlock asked with concern as he stopped playing.

"The baby's coming!" He shouted as he ran out the door. "I'll call you later!" The doctor was out of the flat like a bat out of Hell, jumping into his car like there was a timed bomb. His heart was slamming against his chest and peeled away from the curb to meet his wife at the hospital. This was it. THe biggest thing in his life was happening and there was no way he was going to miss it. Not even if it was the end of the world. His daughter was coming and his family needed him. His wife needed him.

* * *

><p>Sherlock just stood there, staring at the opened door. He didn't know if he should fallow or call or anything. He simply just stood there, thinking about his best friend and the wife in labor. He gave a quick smirk with amusement as he returned to his violin. This was the Watson family. Not his worries. Well, he knew that he was going to be there for the family, but right now, they just needed a breather. John's daughter was coming into the world and things were going to get very interesting. As the song of the violin grew distant in his head, he was just thinking about anything and everything.<p>

Sherrinford was under the suspicions of Moriarty and more than likely had to chose who's side he was on, but what the criminal did not know was who his worker really was and that was Sherlock Holmes's brother. Now Mary Watson was giving birth or at least in labor. John was a doctor and knew what the proceeders were as if they were hard at all. Just for the to-be mother.

At time to time, he would text John, asking how things were going and all that he responded was with that his wife was still in labor and having contractions. The detective asked if he should be there, but his friend responded with, "No. I'm fine, thanks. Just want to be on my own." Sherlock understood and the doctor kept him posted.

All day he was hearing from John and never from Sherrinford, which didn't really surprise him.

Then four hours after John had left for the hospital, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Sherlock called from the kitchen as he was roasting a piece of human brain.

Mrs. Hudson walked in with a tray of tea with a happy smile, that quickly turned to disgust and gently said, "Really, Sherlock. Must you?"

He turned off the blowtorch and placed his experiment down with an apologetic expression.

"I thought John was supposed to be here," she commented with a confused look as she placed the tray not the table.

Sherlock took a cup of tea and drew to it his lips, looking at her. "You missed him by four hours."

"What?"

He took a sip. "Mary's in labor."

The older woman beamed as she clasped her hands together with a cheerful smile. "Oh, really? That's wonderful!" She took a heavy sigh. "I always wanted children, but my husband never cared for them. He thought they were a waste of time. Then he turned out to be a waste of my time," she lightly chuckled. She then smiled at the young man. "Well, that will make you a uncle then! John will make you a part of his family."

He tilted his head with uncertainty as he lowered the cup. "Um… No. Not really."

She frowned. "Why not? You two are almost like brothers."

Sherlock looked at her with surprise. "Have you met Mycroft?" He didn't want to mention Sherrinford considering she didn't know about him and didn't want her to know.

"I said like your brother, not one of your blood-brothers," she replied with narrowed eyes. "When is Mary due?"

"I don't know." He placed the cup on the table. "John is still waiting."

"Well, you better tell me." She smiled happily as she picked up the leftover cup and began to turn away. "I'll let you be with your… experiment." She gave a small shudder as if she was creeped out by the brain-frying.

The chemist gave a small smile of humor at the landlady's reaction and returned to his work, waiting with his phone nearby for Shirrinford or John.


	7. Chapter 6

At noon the next day, John was invited to the flat to see Sherlock after texting him the news at midnight about the arrival of his daughter, who was resting with his wife. He had important questions that he had to ask Sherlock in person, otherwise he would be with his family of course. He remembered how he refused to leave Mary's side the whole night and when he first saw his beloved wife holding the little bundle wrapped in white blanket, it brought tears to his eyes. His two favorite girl's in the whole world… right in front of him. He smirked softly at the memory as he was standing in front of the dark door to the flat, then opened it to find the detective dressed in pajamas with his robe, playing the violin.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked as the doctor walked in and closed the door. "Both of them," he added, remembering that there were two girls now.

John chuckled lovingly at the thought of his baby girl and his adoring wife. "Wonderful. Both of them." All he wanted to do was hurry home to them, but knew that this was going to be a delicate situation.

Sherlock stopped playing the instrument and turned to look at him with gentle smile. "What's her name?"

He took a deep breath as he didn't look him in the eyes. "Emily," he heavily answered, then looked his friend in the eyes. "Emily Sherlock Watson. You said it's a girl's name."

When he knew that this was going to be a delicate situation, he never knew that it would've been this delicate as his friend just stood there, staring at him with processing eyes like his genius mind was trying to compute his words.

"Also, I was hoping that you would be her Godfather," he added, not taking his eyes off his silent friend.

Sherlock continued to stare at him, holding his violin and bow at his sides like a statue. His pale eyes blinked only once or twice.

John took a deep breath as he watched his paralyzed friend. "Not again," he quietly said as he remembered that his friend practically stopped breathing when he was asked to be the best man for the wedding, only this time, the man might fall dead. He slightly tilted his head. "Sherlock?"

The paralyzed man was about to say something, but closed his mouth as his eyes narrowed, trying compute.

The doctor just stood there, waiting for his friend to come back to Earth as the time ticked away. "Can… You say something?" He hopefully asked as his friend was now beginning to scare him. Did he just break Sherlock Holmes? "Anything?"

"You…" The broken detective quietly began, "You named…"

"Yes," he answered with a strong nod, wanting his friend to accept it and remember how to think.

"Because I said-"

"Yes."

"And you want me to be-"

"Again: Yes." He looked his friend hard in the eyes, wanting an answer, wanting his friend to breathe. "I. Want. You. To. Be. Her. Godfather."

"It… It would be an honor," the detective finally answered as he was slowly returning to his old self. "Um… Yeah. I would be her Godfather." He slowly nodded as the thought was starting to sink in.

John gave a curt nod as he placed his hands in his coat pockets, sighing gently in relief. "Good. Yeah." He knew that Sherlock would accept, but wasn't that sure.

Sherlock scratched the side of his head with the back of his bow as he looked away. "Thank you," he softly murmured.

"Yeah," the doctor said, looking back at him. "Don't mention it," not knowing what else to say.

His friend just nodded his head, still surprised, then looked at him again with inquisitive eyes. "You said her middle name is Sherlock?"

He nodded. After Sherlock told him that it was a girl's name when he was about to be banished, John was thinking about that as a middle name for his daughter, and to his surprise last night, Mary agreed.

Sherlock just nodded, accepting it. Too surprised or puzzled or even overwhelmed by all of the honors he was receiving from his best friend.

"So," he began, wanting to get down to business and to get his friend's mind to unfreeze. "Moriarty?"

"Nothing," the detective grumbled as he shook his head. "I had not heard from Sherrinford since yesterday. I asked Mycroft if he heard from him, but heard nothing."

"You don't think…" His voice faded, not wanting to worry his friend.

Sherlock looked at him with wonder. "Think what?"

He gave a small shrug as he looked away, then back at him and quietly said, "You don't think he's dead. Do you?"

His friend shook his head as he looked away. "No," he coldly answered. "He's not dead. I know he's not." He then looked at him with wonder. "Don't you have a wife and baby to go home to?"

John chuckled as the thought was still surreal to him. "Yeah," he answered in dazed manner with a smile. "I do. Just wanted to tell you…"

Sherlock nodded, understanding.

The two friends gave each other awkward farewells and the doctor walked out the door, smiling approvingly about his firmed. If there was anyone he trusted with his newborn girl, that was Sherlock Holmes and he was damned proud of it.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day, Sherlock was still getting over the shock of having the privilege of a child's middle name being after him. John was the kind of man who would name his child after anyone, especially asking if the consulting detective to be his daughter's Godfather. All day he in was in a weird daze, not thinking like he should as he was dressed and ready for nothing, so was mostly playing the violin. It was nine at night when his phone began to ring on the table, making him set his violin's bow on the table and picked up the phone beside it. Only seeing that it was Molly Hooper, he sighed, but overall answered it. "Molly. What's going-"<p>

"Sherlock," her voice was shaky, catching his attention. "It's one of Moirairty's men. H-he says he's going to kill me."

"Who is he?" He demanded, remembering that his brother was using anther name.

Then the phone sounded as if it was being moved, then a smooth voice spoke, "Hello, Sherlock."

"Sherrinford," he whispered, then concern flooded him. "What are you doing?"

He listened to his brother's words.

"Why her?" he growled.

The line went dead.

Sherlock growled with anger as he tore his phone from his ear and gripped it tight, then threw it in his shirt pocket, grabbed his coat and scarf, running out the door. He knew his brother wouldn't kill, especially Molly Hooper, to prove loyalty to Moriarty. There had to be more to it. He burst through the front door and hailed a taxi. He tried to analyze of what his brother was doing. No, there was so much more to this than just what was on the phone call and he knew that Sherrinford was not on Jim Moriarty's side.


	8. Chapter 7

John was convinced that he was going to kill Sherlock if he kept surprising him with unexpected privileges and eventually the detective would die of suffocation due to forgetting to breathe. At least that is what he told Mary, who laughed. "Did he really just freeze like that?" She asked with a humor-filled smile as she was still at the hospital, waiting to return home tonight with their daughter.

"He did," he answered with a chuckle as he was sitting by her bedside, holding her hand. "He really did." He then seriously nodded his head and looked at his wife in the eye and said, "I think I nearly broke Sherlock's brain."

Mary laughed. "I think you nearly did."

He chuckled, then leaned over and kissed her head. "I'm going home to make sure everything is ready for you and Emily. I'll come and see you later."

"Alright, love," she said sweetly with a loving smile.

God, how he loved her smile.

The doctor smiled lovingly at her as he walked out the door, wondering about his new family and what Sherlock was doing. Probably getting over from shock. He chuckled to himself as he replayed the expression on his friend's face in his head. He hoped that his friend found something to get the shock out of his head.

After making everything perfect for the baby and Mary, John stood at the doorway of the baby's room and admired it with love and pride in his heart. The walls were a light shade of blue with silhouettes of small birds in flight along with white clouds. The crib was a gentle white with a mobile of the Solar System attached and a soft pink blanket and some toys inside it. The dresser on the far wall was just a simple wooden one that held the necessities for the infant, for his daughter. The doctor smiled adoringly at the whole sight as his heart throbbed. When Mary gets home, he's going to treat her like a queen as if he doesn't already. He walked to the living room, glancing at the couch which the pillows were fluffed and a soft blanket was ready for his wife to cuddle in. He was going to make sure that his wife was comfy and relaxing at all times after the labor, that he was going to make sure of.

When eight came by, the newborn baby was sleeping soundly in her room as the couple was cuddling on the couch with a fire going, wrapped in the crimson blanket.

"I love you, John," Mary whispered as she placed her head on his chest.

He kissed her head as he held her close. "And I love you."

She then smirked. "Heard from Sherlock at all?"

"Probably past out due to shock," he chuckled as his eyes drifted closed.

Mary giggled at that. "Probably."

* * *

><p>Sherlock hurried to the morgue with his eyes locked in front of him. His brother had to have a good reason to this. He was no traitor… Just an idiot who chooses the wrong sides. When he arrived at the morgue, he threw the double doors open to find Sherrinford pointing a gun at Molly's head, who had tears streaking her face as she tried to be brave. She was stilled dressed in her lab coat, telling the detective that she was just about to finish up her shift when his brother showed up.<p>

"Let her go," he coldly demanded, looking into his brother's green eyes.

"I can't," his older brother sadly smiled as he was still holding the gun. "Orders are orders."

"You wouldn't have me brought here for nothing." He narrowed his eyes, trying to get at what his brother was trying to do. There was a reason. There had to a be a reason.

"Sherlock," Molly whimpered as she just stared at him with large fearful eyes.

"Why are you doing this, Sherrinford?" The detective softly demanded, ignoring the woman in distress, though doubting that he would actually pull the trigger.

"I have to kill someone or Moriarty will kill me," he sadly answered with disappointed green eyes.

So, that was the reason.

He did ask too many questions and screwed up.

Sherlock stepped forward, fearing the worst. "You don't have to do this," he tried. His brother wouldn't actually do this, would he? Yes, he chose the wrong sides at times, but he was not a killer. Also, he worked with Mycroft more than he did with the enemy. He was not a backstabbing traitor. None of the Holmes were known for that and he was not going to be the first!

He looked him dead in the eyes. "Not unless you stop me," his voice was hollow.

Sherlock gave a quick smirk, hoping he wasn't thinking what he thought. "I'm not going to kill my own brother if that's what you're thinking."

"Brother?" The woman cried with disbelief. "He said his name was William Scott!"

He slightly tilted his head to the side, staring at his older brother as he knew where he got that name from, but didn't say anything as he didn't want it to spread.

Sherrinford just gave half a shrug, then grew annoyed with the detective's statement, "No, not killing me! Wounding me to make it look like that was meant to happen." He roughly released Molly and slid the gun to the detective and spread his arms wide. "Shoot me."

"What?" He asked, knowing that he heard him right, but wasn't sure what he wanted. It did sound like a plan that would work, but it was his own brother.

"Shoot me to make it look like you tried to kill me otherwise Moriarty will kill me!" He was growing annoyed as he knew that his little brother was being dull, then relaxed as his arms fell to his sides. "Really, little brother. You should know what to do. It's obvious, isn't it?" He looked him in the eyes with wonder.

Sherlock took a deep breath, returning his brother's gaze. "I do understand, but you do know that there is a chance that Moriarty will still kill you."

He nodded as if he accepting his fate. "I know." He then sadly smirked. "But I refuse to die traitor to my own brothers." He then looked away with annoyance as he grumbled, "And Mycroft would never get off my back if I did. 'You should've known better than to betray my word, dear brother,'" he mocked his older brother's tone. "'Mummy would never forgive you for hurting our little brother.' Then he would give you the look of I-Want-To-Beat-You-With-My-Umbrella-But-I-Can't-Because-That's-Unprofessional."

The youngest brother couldn't help, but to chuckle with agreement. "I know that look very well." He could just picture his eldest brother giving him that same look at time and time again. John even joked about imagining the British Government beating or poking someone with his umbrella because he got too annoyed at them. He then took a deep breath as he slowly knelt down and picked the gun up. He looked at his elder brother with a reassuring gaze. "This bullet won't kill you."

"I know," he replied as he took a deep breath, not looking at the detective, who took aim, ready for the impact.

The gun fired and Sherlock watched with cold blood as his brother gripped his right arm with agony distorting his narrow face.

He hurried to his brother and handed him the gun. "You're going to be fine," he reassured him as his own heart was pounding, wishing that he could help his brother, but knew that he couldn't. Not now. "Just go and get help."

Sherrinford looked him in the eyes with a small nod, then looked over at Molly with softer eyes. "Sherrinford Holmes by the way, Sherlock's older brother; the middle child. Nice to meet you, Miss. Molly Hooper. Sorry for the fright." He gave a smile. "Hopefully we'll meet again on better terms."

Molly nodded. "Yeah. I-I heard of you," she meekly replied, obviously still shaken.

He shoved the gun into his suit jacket pocket as he he was still holding his wounded shoulder as blood was oozing onto his nice black jacket, and hurried for the door as he pulled out his phone, dialing Moriarty.

Sherlock quickly turned his attention to the pathologist with cold concern. "Are you alright?"

She nodded as she hugged herself. "Yeah," she muttered, watching the doors close behind the wounded brother. "That's Sherrinford? I see the resemblance now." She smiled nervously at him. "Didn't see it before when he said that he was going to kill me if I didn't call you. Now I see it." She smiled humorously as she began to calm her nerves. "You have similar cheekbones."

The detective rolled his eyes, then smirked at her as he began to lighten. "I knew he wasn't going to kill you." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Is he going to be alright?" Concern flooded her brown eyes as her smile disappeared.

He took a deep breath, looking back at the door. "I hope so." He hated being unsure. Especially when it came to his brothers.


	9. Chapter 8

Sherlock woke up to a missed call from a strange number with a voicemail, so he listened thinking that it was Moriarty, but it was Sherrinford. "I'm calling from a phone booth," his voice was calm and collected. "Moriarty was on to me like I said and nearly did kill me this time. I don't have much time, but Sherlock, I won't be able to contact you or Mycroft for a little while"

That caught his attention.

"No matter what happens, I'm still on your side." His voice began to grow nervous. "I need you to trust me no matter what. My life may depend on it. _Your _life may depend on it. Talk to you later, little brother."

The recording stopped.

The detective lowered the phone and slowly deleted the message as his mind was thinking. How was his brother going to contact him if anything happened? Cercainly he couldn't keep calling from a phone booth. Sherrinford was in danger and Moriarty nearly killed him. What the hell was he planning?

He roughly looked away with frustration. Something was going to happen soon and he didn't know what. Knowing that worrying won't do anything, he walked to the kitchen and began to boil hot water for tea.

* * *

><p>At nine in the morning, John came by with a large smile that almost annoyed the detective, who was laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I see you're in a good mood," he dryly commented. He not in the mood for joyousness as his eye-in-the-inside may be put to an end.<p>

"Glad to see, too," the doctor care-freely retorted as he closed the door, then handed his friend his own phone with edger eyes and smile.

Sherlock took the phone with confusion, then noticed the photo on the screen, making him sit up. "That's her?" He asked with a small smile starting to form as his mind began to relax. There, on the screen, was a pair of large brown eyes of a beautiful baby girl, dressed in a little pink outfit.

"That's her," the proud father answered with a smile. "Emily Sherlock Watson."

"She has Mary's eyes." The detective chuckled as he handed back his friend the phone, looking up at him. "When do I get to meet her?" It never occurred of meeting her so soon, but after he saw the photo and knowing that she was his Goddaughter, it felt like it was his responsibility and it was.

"Whenever you want to come over," John answered calmly as he gave the photo a look himself with a loving smile.

Sherlock laid back down. "I'll come later today, maybe." Since there was nothing planned and Sherrinford wasn't going to contact him anytime soon, it might as well be a good time to drop by.

"Sounds good," John replied with a curt nod, still smiling. The pride was just beaming off him like a solar flare.

He gave a smirk at the sight of the new proud father. John was certainly living the ordinary family life or as ordinary as it gets for him, but it was something to calm his hectic job as the blogger for the consulting detective. Then the smirk faded as he rested his hands over his thin stomach, thinking of the criminal mastermind. "Sherrinford won't be able to contact me as frequent anymore," he announced as he was staring back at the ceiling.

"What happened?" There was concern in his friend's voice as he placed the phone back in his coat.

"Moriarty was on to him and he made my brother kill someone, but he didn't."

It took a moment for the blogger to process it in his head, then asked with a look of utter confusion, "What happened?"

"He was ordered to kill Molly," the detective answered, rolling his eyes at his friend, who could be so ordinary.

"Molly? Molly Hooper? He was ordered to Kill Molly Hooper?" The reality of it began to set in as surprise and horror started to take over.

"Yes, but he didn't obviously. I stopped him. He didn't want to kill her, so he made her call me last night."

"Last-"

He cut in before John could make him repeat. "To make it look like I didn't allow it to happen, I shot him in the shoulder, but it only made Moriarty more suspicious. My brother called from a phone booth at dawn."

There was brief pause.

"What now?" John asked, confused.

"Now we wait." He stood up, walked over to the table to pick up his violin and began to play. "We have nothing better to do right now and Moriarty wis certainly plotting something."

"What if he finds out that Sherrinford is your brother?"

"He won't kill him, but use him," he darkly answered. He knew that the criminal would use his brother to get to the detective and would try to make him a pressure point to the detective. Sherlock didn't know what he would do himself if that happened, but his goal was to get his brother out alive as himself and send Moriarty to prison.

* * *

><p>John took Sherlock over to his place so he could meet his Goddaughter late in the afternoon. When he walked into the home, he was warmly greeted by Mary and hugged him as he sent a kiss on her cheek. The wife greeted her husband with a kiss, then happily went to the hallway to fetch the baby. As they were waiting, Sherlock smirked, not getting over the thought. "I can't believe you gave her middle name my own."<p>

"I know you are," John mused, standing beside him. "I thought you stopped breathing."

He narrowed his eyes in defense. "Of course I was breathing."

"Didn't look like it." A humorous smile formed on the doctor's face as he looked at his friend. "You were petrified."

"You caught me off guard," he coldly explained, not wanting to seem like he always did that when people surprised him.

"Like I did when I asked you to be my best man."

"Again: Caught off guard."

"You just don't expect it."

"Of course I don't."

"Obviously," he chuckled.

A grinning Mary came in holding her small daughter in her arms, bundled in a pink blanket.

When he saw the faces of the daughter and mother together, he saw the same eyes again from the photo. Emily was going to grow up looking like Mary Watson for sure. "She's lovely," he commented as a soft smile grew upon his lips as he found himself smiling sweetly at the infant. He looked at the wife with the same smile. "She looks looks like you."

"That's what I tell her," John softly said with a chuckle, "but she keeps denying it."

The mother giggled, then admitted quietly as she looked down at her daughter with a loving smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I am," Sherlock stated with a grin that made both John and Mary chuckle as they knew he normally was, then it slowly turned to a smile of happiness for the couple. They were certainly going to be great parents and they were already without a doubt.

Mary then looked at the detective with wonder. "Do you want to hold her?"

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat at the sudden question. The last time he held a kid was… Hell, he didn't even remember when. He gave a reassuring smile as he lightly waved his hands. "No, it's fine. Really."

"She's your Goddaughter," John stated as he looked at his friend with disbelief.

"I know," he slowly became nervous, fearing that he was going to offend the parents as well as his friend. "I just never handled…" He glanced at the baby and back to the couple, "Kids."

Mary stepped forward, offering her daughter to him. "That's why your going to hold her. She sleeping and all you have to do is support her head."

Without being able to do anything, the detective was forced into taking the sleeping infant, worried that he was going to harm her in some way, then when he held her steadily in his arms and looked at her peaceful face, his heart froze. Not frozen as in a panic or worry, but frozen in disbelief. There he was, Sherlock Holmes, the man who used to have no heart, was holding am infant in his arms. He couldn't take his blue eyes off the sleeping baby as she was the most innocent thing he ever held before. She has so much life and greatness ahead of her and he knew it. John and Mary Watson were going to guide her to success and he was going to protect her like any Godfather would do. He knew that he was going to be much more than just the Godfather. He was going to be her uncle.

Then her large, brown eyes slowly opened and he saw Mary in them so much more than he did in the photo.

She just stared at him with those large eyes as he just smirked at her, still in the surreal state, then finally said in a hushed gentle voice, "Emily Sherlock Watson… That is something to get used to." He couldn't help to wonder how she would react in years time that she was named after Sherlock Holmes, her father's best friend. Would she think of it as an honor or not necessary or whatever about it? Knowing John, he would praise the detective, his best friend, the man whose life he kept saving. Since she was John and Mary's daughter, she would be a smart girl and wouldn't be an idiot. There was no way that the uncle would allow it as he was going to teach her how to be observant and perhaps be the next consulting detective.

He shoved the thought from his head.

No.

It was too dangerous. That was the last thing he wanted to do with his Goddaughter and that was to put her in danger.

_I promise to protect you, Emily Sherlock Watson, _he mentally promised. _I intend to keep it, my Goddaughter. _Feeling that he has been holding her long enough, he carefully handed her back to her mother, who lovingly took her into her arms. "She is going to grow to a lovely woman," he humbly told the parents, who smiled at their daughter, listening to his words. "That, I am for certain."

John smiled at him with kindness in his eyes as if to say, "Thank you for everything."


	10. Chapter 9

Two weeks had past and Sherrinford had disappeared. The detective knew that his brother wasn't dead, otherwise he would know and so would Mycroft. Not only was the occurring, but since John and Mary had a baby, things were getting more and more quiet around the flat, understandably. He hardly dropped by to see his friend and his blogger would only come over once or twice. This time it was Mycroft that was over to a cup of tea.

"Missing your _friend, _I see?" Mycroft asked with a forced smile as they were sitting across from each other.

"He has a family to attend to," he muttered as he sipped on his cup of hot tea, knowing that it was true, obviously.

"First Sherrinford disappears, then John has a family… Oh, what next?" He pretended to sound concern.

Sherlock looked at his brother, not amused at his brother's statement. "Amusing, Mycroft."

"Soon John Watson would forget about his friend," he said as he looked at him with a cold expression.

The youngest narrowed his eyes. "Impossible. He has my Goddaughter."

Mycroft looked at him with hard truth. "It's been two weeks, Sherlock."

"Seven days," he corrected. Even though it was only a few short hours, he still came over.

He gave false sympathy. "Oh, Sherlock. That is tragic."

He growled with annoyance. He wasn't upset that his friend was busy with his own family. He had a baby and that was hard enough to handle. He had his own life. It was a given.

The eldest looked at him with dryness. "You act as if you're fine with this." There was a hidden emotion in his brown eyes and the detective knew exactly what he was trying to say. Something that made the detective put his guard up years ago.

"I am fine with it," he strongly commented, trying to ignore the mental message that his brother was trying to get across.

"Are you?" Then he sighed. "John has his own life and has more of a reason to live now. He probably won't want to risk his life anymore." He picked up his cup and took a sip, not looking at the detective. Again trying to pass the message.

Sherlock never thought of that. Now since John has a baby, he wouldn't want that baby to grow up fatherless. Especially by something that the detective could've avoided.

To no surprise, his brother lowered his cup with a sigh, knowing that it was true. "Never thought of that, I see. Oh, Sherlock, I think you've care a bit too much. Look at her and Sherrinford. So concerned for his safety. Remember Redbeard?"

"I need him alive," he coldly stated, ignoring his brother's last statement, looking his brother dead in the eye to show that it was the truth. "He knows Moriarty's secrets and I need to know them." If Sherrinford died, the detective would be back at square one. Right now it felt like square one and a half.

His brother nodded in agreement, but his eyes were dark and there was a reason behind it.

Sherlock sipped on his own cup of tea as he looked at Mycroft in the eye. "It wasn't his fault," he announced, earning his brother's gaze. "I know you blame him, but it was my idea." He lowered the cup, wanting the point to get straight across.

"He didn't have to get you into that path," he dryly stated.

"And if he didn't, I wouldn't be a detective." He then shook his head with a smirk. "Not true. I would've." It is true that his brother- well, both of them in a way- inspired him to become a detective. He just went in with more drive than inspiration and did it with his talent at deduction at his side.

"No, you could've been worse."

He looked back at his brother, who was glaring at him.

"You could've become like Moriarty." A bitter smile grew upon his lips. "Then what would've happened, Sherlock? I would have no choice, but to kill my baby brother."

Sherlock's eyes drifted away from him, remembering that Mycroft ordered the military to not open fire on his little brother, fearing that he was going to watch him die. "That's not completely true," he muttered. "Mother would never forgive you if you did."

"Nor would she forgive Sherrinford for giving you such a fate, nor would she forgive you for listening to your brother. That," his voice grew lighter, "or you might have ended up in a mental institution." His voice became harsh as his face grew grim. "Forever."

Sherlock stared strongly at his brother. "I didn't become like Sherrinford and I'm not Moriarty, so you don't have to worry about putting a gun to my head, dear brother."

Mycroft forced a smile. "Glad to hear." Then he sighed. "Well, I best be off." He stood up, picking up his umbrella as he set his tea cup down. "Thank Mrs. Hudson for tea for me."

"That's the first," the detective murmured.

His brother gave him a final smile as he walked to the door, then left, leaving the detective with his cooling cup of tea that he was sipping on.

"Never thanked her before," he muttered as if he did.

* * *

><p>Sherlock returned to lab to start a new experiment on a brain after finishing the heart a week prior as Molly was weighing a liver. The two of them studied in science, until the pathologist asked, "How's your brother?"<p>

"Fine," he answered, knowing that she was referring to Sherrinford. He obviously didn't know himself, but didn't want to discuss it as he was cutting deeper into the brain.

"That's good. How are you?"

"Fine." He glanced at her. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

There was a small silence.

"How was your date last night?" He asked to pass time as he was waiting for John to arrive.

Molly hesitated, knowing that he just deduced her. "It was… Alright. Don't really care for him." She gave him an uneasy smile.

He gave her a quick glance with curiosity, then returned to the brain. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "There wasn't anything really there, you know?" She looked at him.

"Not really," he answered, not caring if he knew what she was talking about or not. He was just waiting for John to show up.

Another pause.

Just as the pathologist was about to open her mouth, the doors opened to John Watson. "You said you needed something?" He asked as he approached the detective. "Hi, Molly," he kindly greeted with a smile.

"Hi," she returned the smile.

The doctor looked at his friend. "So what did you need?"

"Absolutely nothing," he dryly answered as he was paying attention to the brain.

"You called me over here-"

"I just needed to talk to you," he admitted.

"About?"

"How's Mary?"

"Good."

"Emily?"

"Good."

"You?"

"I'm fine." He then grew aggravated. "What is that you want to talk about?"

Sherlock smiled humorously at him. "We're talking, aren't we?" He hated that Mycroft's words were starting to get the best of him, making him lie to John that there was an emergency just so he could see him again.

John's face turned blank as he stared at the chuckling detective, who returned to his dissecting. "That's why you called me as soon as possible? Saying that it was an emergency?"

He looked at him with false disappointment. "You don't want to talk to me?" Half of him didn't know if he was faking it or if he was actually concerned that his friend didn't want to see him.

"I have a baby, Sherlock," John sighed. "I can't just leave Mary with her all the time."

Sherlock understood that, but he was starting to get concerned if his friend would no longer want to go on cases together. "You will be joining me on cases still, right?" He softly asked, trying to hide the concern.

John looked at him, taken aback by his question. "Of course!" He cried as if it was the most ridiculous thing he heard of. "You and I are a team!" He then chuckled. "Besides, you'd be nothing without your blogger."

The detective smiled with reasurance. He knew that there was nothing to worry about as he and John were going to remain by each others sides for years to come.


	11. Chapter 10

Two months had past and there was no word from Sherrinford.

Sherlock knew that he was still alive, but his older brother was certain that he was dead. The detective was just being patient, hoping that time was no being wasted. The two friends would solve cases in the meantime and, of course, none of them were connected to Moriarty- which was fine.

Emily Sherlock Watson was growing to be a healthy and good little baby at two-months-old as Sherlock Holmes was a proud Godfather when he would see the infant, picturing that she was going to have the will of Mary, the loyalty of John, and maybe the mind of Sherlock.

Maybe.

Depends how much he teaches her, but there was no way she was going to replace him as he did not want her to live the lifestyle he lives- or to be known as another genus- Or her father's lifestyle… Or her mother's past lifestyle… She might even become a pathologist for all the detective knew.

The thought of his Goddaughter becoming a pathologist like Molly Hooper would make him smugly chuckle.

* * *

><p>It was a Saturday night and the detective hadn't heard from John Watson all day and that was not concerning at all. He would just spend time doing experiments, composing, or just read the his friend's blog. As Sherlock was getting to turn in for the night, his phone rang. "Yes, John?" He answered, going by the name on his screen.<p>

"S-Sherlock," his voice was panicked and sounded as if he was crying, catching the detective's attention. "S-she's dead. Oh, God she's dead!" He began to cry horribly.

"Who's dead?" He asked, fearing that it was the baby.

"Mary!" His friend sobbed. "She was shot!"

His blood ran cold with dread and horror. "I'm on my way." Without another word, he hung up, and quickly threw on his suit as his mind was panicking. Scenarios ran through his mind of who would kill Mary Watson, but all he could think was Moriarty. He was the only one who would do something like this.

Self-anger flowed through the detective's blood.

He vowed to protect Mary Watson and he broke that vow! How could he do that so soon? The detective rushed out of the flat, down the stairs. Now she was dead! Mary Watson, the wife of his best friend and the mother of his child, was dead! Emily would never even remember her own mother! He skidded to a halt when he got the curb and raised a hand when a cabbie was nearing. "Taxi!" There was no way he going to let the killer get away. This was not going unsolved!

* * *

><p>By the time the detective had arrived, the complex was already filled with police. Sherlock paid the cabbie and jumped out of the cab, practically running in search of John as his heart was pounding. Red and blue lights were flashing around, then he spotted his friend sitting on the curb, holding his baby close. "John!" He cried as he ran to his friend, who raised his head.<p>

"Sherlock." He leapt to his feet.

When the detective approached him, never has he seen his friend look so broken since he faked his own death. It scared him to see his best friend look like a thin glass as he held his sleeping daughter close as if he was holding on to his life. "John," he said softly, trying not to bring tears to his eyes himself. "I- I don't know what to say."

_I failed you._

He shook his head, looking away with bloodshot eyes. "She's dead," he muttered. "My wife is dead." He bowed his head, beginning to cry as his daughter was sleeping in his arms, not aware of the heartache and devastation around her.

Without thinking, Sherlock hugged him. He just stood there, letting his friend sob into his coat. He have seen this man's heart broken before as he buried his best friend. Now, he has to bury his wife for almost a year. Tears came into his own eyes as his heart was aching for his friend. He broke his vow. He protected Mary from Magnussen, but he could not protect her from Moriarty.

_I failed you, _his mind repeated.

He pulled away with a hand on his shoulder remaining. "How is Emily?" He asked, forcing the tears away very well.

John looked down at her as he trying to compose himself. "She's fine. I'm glad that the killer…" He took a deep breath, "didn't get to her." He looked away as the fear of losing his baby entered his brown eyes.

Now it was time to get to business.

His hand dropped form his friend's shoulder. "What happened?" The detective asked out of business and wanting to not allow his friend to think of the dark matter of his daughter.

The doctor looked up at him. "I came home and I found her…" He looked away. "Dead in the living room. Two bullets to the chest." He then grabbed his friend's wrist and looked him dead in the eye. "Sherlock. There was also a note. On her phone. S.H. was typed on the texting screen as if a calling card."

Sherlock slowly looked away as his mind began to think.

It wasn't true.

There was no way that he would do this. It wasn't him.

"Sherlock," John's voice entered his thoughts, "I think your brother-"

"He did no such thing," he said coldly, looking his friend in the eyes. "He's being framed."

"I know you trust him and that he's your brother, but who else would leave S.H. on a phone as calling card and I know it wasn't you." His eyes were cold, dark, and pain-filled. "I didn't tell anyone else that, besides you because I knew you would get questioned. Sherlock. Your brother killed my wife."

"You don't know that," he coldly said, not breaking his gaze. He was relieved, however, that his friend did not think of him for the killing, but Sherrinford Holmes instead. "He is bring framed," he related, trying to get it through to his friend's head.

Sherrinford was a lot of things, but not a killer. If there was a killer in the Holmes family, it was Sherlock Holmes and the victim was Charles Augustus Magnussen. Even though things look bad for his brother, he was going to prove him innocent. Sherrinford was not a murderer.

"Where's the body?" He demanded, forgetting that this was Mary they were talking about.

"No," John stated strongly with pain as tear stains were glistening on his cheeks. "Leave her alone." His voice fell with heartache. "She's been through enough already."

Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him strongly in the eye. "Sherrinford is not the killer and we will find the real killer. You have to trust me." He knew that his friend did trust him, but he also broke his vow and this may either pull the friendship away from being partners in the business, or closer to finding the real murderer.

"Of course I trust you," John replied quietly, pain flooding his eyes.

"Then where is Mary?" He quietly demanded.

"On the way to the morgue."

The detective began to walk away to the taxi that was waiting. "Go to the flat," he ordered. "I'll be there as soon as I can." He jumped in the taxi. "St. Bart's Hospital," he demanded and the taxi drove. He quickly texted Molly, hoping that she had the night shift because he was not going to allow any other pathologist near that Mary Watson. When she didn't respond, he called her.

"Hello?" Her drowsy voice answered.

"Molly. I need you at Bart's A.S.A.P."

"Why?"

"There has been a murder and I refuse to have anyone else examine it," he simply answered with a strong voice, trying not to give away any hint of pain or anger.

"Can't this wait in the morning?" She groaned.

"Molly," he said darkly as pain pulled at his heart. "It's Mary." He sighed. "She's dead."

"Oh, my God," she quietly gasped.

"Yeah," he muttered, still disbelieving it all.

"On my way."

"Thank you."

Then he hung up with a heavy heart, tears threatening to appear.

* * *

><p>The detective was in the morgue, waiting for the pathologist to arrive as he was standing nearby the covered body of Mary Watson. Images of the wedding flashed through his mind, replaying them as if they were just last night. The first dance of John and Mary Watson went through before his eyes as he playing the violin. After Mary shot him, he convinced John that she was still on their side and she was. She loved John with all her heart and would die for him. Maybe she did die for him, just not directly.<p>

The double doors opened, catching his attention as Molly Hooper walked in and froze with pain, disbelief, and sadness as the sight of her made him feel guilty. When she carried on walking to the detective, she didn't know what to say.

He could tell that she was trying to think of what to say as her pain-filled brown eyes were just staring into his own. He knew that she was hesitating if she should hug him or not as she would look away at times. Even he didn't know what to say or think. Instead, he just showed the emotions through his eyes and she read them. This case was going to be the hardest to solve. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. The detective wanted to treat this like a regular case to save the emotions, but couldn't. He could not treat Mary Watson like a regular case as he loved and respected her.

The two partners would only speak to each other if necessary as they worked and the morgue never felt so dark as it did that night.


	12. Chapter 11

Two hours later Sherlock returned to the flat, only to tell his friend that he found nothing that would lead them to the killer. John was just sitting in his chair with his sleeping daughter in his arms. His brown eyes were bloodshot, gazing into nothingness as tears stained his face. He said nothing as he just sat there, just replaying the death of his wife over and over in his mind. His heart was broken. His mind was drowning. His baby was the only thing that was keeping him sane and it didn't take a consulting detective to figure it out.

The detective sat on the couch, hunched over, looking at the dark floorboards. He couldn't think of anything to say. He didn't even want to speak. He failed to protect her. He vowed that he would and he failed. His heart slowly began to crack. "I'm sorry," he forced himself to say, tying to keep it together. "I'm sorry that I broke my vow." He looked up at his friend to see what he would do, but he just stared out the window. He looked away. "I said I would protect her. All of you and-"

"It wasn't your fault," John muttered. "It's your brother's."

Sherlock turned his gaze to him, this time it was more stern. "No. I know it was-"

"He's guilty until otherwise," he snapped.

"It's innocent-"

He turned his head to the detective with cold and pain-filled eyes. "His initials were on her phone, Sherlock." His voice was strong and aching.

"As were mine," he muttered as he looked away.

"I know you didn't do it," John quietly barked, trying not to wake his baby up as anger twisting inside like it was beginning to burn him. "I know you didn't kill my wife, and if you did…" His voice faded as he looked away, placing his hand to his mouth in a distressed manner.

The two fell silent as they were lost in the their own thoughts as a heavy cloud was looming over their heads, until John muttered, "If I see your brother," he took a deep breath, "there's no holding me back."

Sherlock looked at him with slightly wide eyes as his friend was looking in the opposite direction from him. "You would kill my brother?" He asked with no emotion. John did kill people, not only in the war, but the cabbie when they first met. He killed the man to save Sherlock, but would he honestly kill his best friend's brother for killing his wife? Or was that just the rage talking? The detective couldn't tell if he meant it or not and he didn't like it.

"For killing my wife? Yes."

"You are talking about my brother," he coldly reminded, just staring at his friend. "I know you are hurting, but this is my brother. I will not-"

John took a deep breath, slowly shaking his head. "You're right," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Sherlock understood where he was coming from and sighed as he stood up and walked to his friend. "Come on. You need to sleep."

He shook his head as he waved his free hand. "Can't. I'll just think of her." He bowed his head and his sleeping daughter, holding her close. A tear escaped his eyes. "She was my wife," he murmured. "My beautiful Mary…" He softly began to shake with pain as he began to weep. "Why her? Why, why her? Why couldn't it be me?"

The detective knelt beside his best friend, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, staring at him with firm eyes. "John," he said strongly as he could at this moment. "You can't talk like that. Mary wouldn't want you to-"

"I should've been there!" He sobbed. "I should've protected her." He placed his face in his free hand and just cried as the baby stirred.

"And then Emily may be out of parents," he snapped. His friend's words were making him angry. After everything this man went through, he was going to stop here. He had a baby for God's sake!

John nodded as his crying calmed, knowing that his friend was right. "You're right," he said, taking a deep breath, removing his hand, looking down at his baby. "She needs me."

Sherlock sighed with relief, glad that sense snapped into his mourning friend. Not only that, but if Sherlock lost his best friend and the wife, he would not know what to do. Where would Emily go? Certainly not to him. He can't take care of a infant. It would be impossible. However, John is alive and well, so that wasn't a concern.

Instead of John making the detective sleep, Sherlock wanted his blogger to sleep, but refused. Concerned about his and the baby, the detective got dressed for the night, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and fell asleep on the couch as he friend just slept in his chair with his baby in his arms. The night wasn't peaceful at all as the doctor would dream of his wife as he predicted and Sherlock kept waking up, just to see how his friend was doing.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Sherlock texted his eldest brother, informing him that Sherrinford was alive, Mary was dead, and their brother was not the killer.<p>

All he got as a response was: _We'll see who Sherrinford really is._

He didn't reply.

* * *

><p>The funeral was a week later and it was a beautiful and simple one. Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, some of Mary's friends all were wearing black and standing around the grave. John didn't want his two-month-old to be there, having her stay with a nanny. When it was time for the husband to speak, he spoke of his wife with such love and affection, that it brought tears to the guests eyes. Then it was Sherlock Holmes, the best man for the wedding, spoke, turn to speak. Planning this for a week, he was ready to truly honor Mary Elizabeth Watson for who she truly was and how of a wonderful and loyal wife she was to his dear friend and was going to be a very good mother for their growing daughter. He was surprised that he kept it cool through the whole speech, but the audience did not, however. They were crying and weeping, including John. Seeing that he did enough damage, he ended it.<p>

When the friends returned the flat, John sighed as he was removing his black dress coat. "I might as well return home," he muttered.

Sherlock nodded as he walked to the window, having a dark cloud loom over his head. "I will solve this," he told his friend as he was reassuring himself.

"It's Sherrinford," he darkly replied. "And Moriarty."

The detective said nothing. He had to prove that his brother was innocent. Sherrinford had to be. He had to be! He was not a killer!

"I'll see you later then," John sighed.

Sherlock slightly turned his head over his shoulder. "Sounds good."

The door was about to open. "Sherlock?" He asked in a wondrous voice.

"Hm?"

"What you said about Mary… That meant a lot."

He looked at his friend with a small dip of the head as he placed his hands behind his back. "She deserved every single word."

John sadly nodded, then walked out of the flat, closing the door behind.

Sherlock picked up his violin, and began to play the Waltz for Mr. and Mrs. Watson for the last time, until his phone sounded, making him place the instrument down and read the text: _Lovely funeral for a lovely woman, Sherlock. _

_Who is this?- SH_

No response.


	13. Chapter 12

It was two days after the funeral when Sherlock was having a restless night, being plagued with the fact that he failed to protect his best friend's wife. Giving up on sleep, he just sat in the living, looking out the window as his mind would try not to go to dark corridors. Then his phone rang and answered it without checking the number. "Hello?"

"Sherlock," John's voice came from the other end, sounding fearful, yet trying to remain calm. "You have ten minutes, or…" he swallowed, "or I get a bullet in my brain."

The detective's eyes narrowed as he slowly stood up. "What's going on?" He darkly asked, having a sickening feeling in his gut.

"Mary's death… Was too much for me. I-I can't carry on."

"John, what the hell are you talking about?" He hissed, trying not to panic. What was John doing? He has a baby! He has a two-month-old baby that needed him!

"Come find me, Sherlock, or I will die."

He slowly took a couple of paces to his room, getting ready to quickly switch clothing. "Where are you?"

"Coordinates will be sent to your phone."

Then the line went dead.

A second later, the coordinates were received and the detective ran to the bedroom to get dressed, ready to save his friend.

* * *

><p>John took a shaky breath as Sherrinford Holmes was holding a gun to his head and Morriarty was holding the phone to the bound doctor's ear and hung up on the detective. "Ten minutes, Mr. Watson," the criminal mastermind sang as he walked to a wooden door. "And you'll have a bullet in your head." He then turned the gun wielder. "Relax. He's not going anywhere." Then he walked out the room, closing the metal door behind.<p>

"You-" John just a deep breath, glaring at Sherlock's brother, who placed the gun in his coat. "You killed my wife. You betrayed your own brother."

He said nothing as he walked out of the room, leaving the hostage alone in the dark.

John just bowed his head, remembering that Emily, his only thing left of Mary, needed him more than anything. The gun was removed and the man walked out of the room, leaving him alone in the dark. "Please hurry, Sherlock," he whispered as he hung his head. "Please. My daughter… She needs me. Your brother… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Time ticked away.

Slowly… So slowly it ticked.

Three minutes turned to five minutes. Five minutes turned to eight.

If Sherlock Holmes didn't make it in time, his own brother was going his kill his best friend.

John Watson just sat there with his head bowed, knowing that his friend was going to do his last minutes rescues. He couldn't die now. He has a baby! She would be a orphan! Emily. Emily Sherlock Watson. Her mother loved her so much and she'll never know how much. John forced the tears as the thought of his wife flooded his mind. He was not ready to see her and she knew that. He had to live. He had to.

The sound of a gunshot rang out.

His head jerked up with large eyes.

What the hell just happened?

* * *

><p>The coordinates lead Sherlock to an abandoned apartment building that was nearby, which was odd. If John Watson wanted to end his own life, there was no reason for him to choose this place.<p>

Something was wrong.

This was a set up and all he had to do was find John. He checked his watch and only had two minutes remaining before he was killed, so he ran to the front door, but was not an idiot and was on his toes. He checked every corner, wishing that he had a gun on him as normally John had the firearm along side. The detective made his way through the dark halls, searching for the right door number. WHen he didn't find it on the first floor, he ran up to the second and there it was room. 212. Taking a deep breath in front of the old flat, he quickly threw the door open, only to find Sherrinford leaning against at the far wall. "Hello, Sherlock," he said slyly as he stood up straight with his hands in his coat pockets. "Close the door."

The detective did what he was told and looked into the green eyes of his brother. Before he was going to open his mouth, his brother took out a gun from his coat and aimed it at him.

"I'm sorry, but," his older brother gave a small, nonchalant shrug, "orders are orders."

"Does he know?" He casually asked.

Sherrinford nodded. "Yes. He found out a while back."

So, Moriarty did find out who he really was instead of William Scott.

His heart turned cold with dread as he was about to ask the question that he wanted to know for two months. "Did you do it? Do you kill Mary Watson?"

His brother stayed silent for a moment as the detective was hoping what the answer was. "No," he finally answered. "I was framed. To make you think I did." His was almost hurt in a way as if he didn't want to do this. He probably didn't and there had to be a reason. A reason to make him point a gun at his little brother.

Sherlock took a silent sigh of relief as he lightly closed his eyes. He knew that Sherrinford was not capable for committing such a heinous act. It wasn't his style. He knew his brother even though they hadn't seen each other for ten years. Better then Mycroft, who was wrong, which meant another thing that Sherlock could mock his eldest brother for. Well, mostly John.

"But that doesn't mean I'm on your side."

He opened his eyes, looking in the cold eyes of his brother. His own eyes inquisitively narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sherrinford sadly smirked, still holding the gun. "I have to kill you, little brother. I'm so sorry, but don't worry. I'll tell John that you tried to save him."

Sherlock took a small step back, looking at him with disbelief. "You're going to kill your own brother?"

"I'll make it quick," he softly promised as pain melted through his narrow face. "Right between the eyes, baby brother. Unless, of course, you want to think how you failed to save your friend as you would be breathing your last." He gave a short, sad smirk. "That would be hard to watch personally."

The detective felt his heart began to slam in his chest as he remembered seeing Mary Watson aim a gun at him. Only this time, he wasn't told that he was going to flatline in the operating room. He was being told that he was going to die here and now. "What would Mother say?" He managed to ask emotionlessly as his mind was racing. "What would Mycroft say?"

He shrugged. "I always could lie," he answered in his smooth voice. "Just close your eyes, baby brother. I'll be over shortly."

"Why do you have to kill me?" He asked as fear began to lurch inside him.

There was no way getting out of this one.

There was no where to run.

No where to go.

He couldn't leave John.

Hell, he didn't even know where his friend was.

Now, here he is. Going to die by his own brother's hands.

The middle brother smirked and answered, "I don't want to die."

He swallowed as he became weak, remembering how he was panicking in his mind palace when he was shot, now this time, his mind was frozen. "Sherrinford," he softly said as he reminded himself as a child, "Please. You don't have to do this. You know who the real enemy is. You can-"

His brother gripped the gun tighter, a dark gleam creeping over his eyes. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes slowly grew wide, then the gun fired and the detective fell backwards onto the floor with a bullet wound in the middle of the forehead.


	14. Chapter 13

A moment after the gun fired, John was still sitting in the dark, lonely room of an old flat, wondering what had caused the gunfire. Was it Moriarty? Or was it something else? It couldn't have been Sherlock. No. It couldn't, right? He never brought a gun and only gave it to his friend when he did.

Then the door opened to the tall and lean figure of Sherrinford, who silently approached the hostage with a pocketknife as the doctor's eyes never left him. He knelt beside the chair to cut his bondings and forced the hostage to his feet.

John was ready to strike, until a gun was brought under his chin. "Don't," the Holmes brother warned, then took the lead, making the doctor fallow. The two walked in silence as John's senses were sharpened, ready for anything. He was ready to attack and ready to defend himself. He was ready to even run if he had to.

The brother lead him to another flat's door and just stood in front of it, glaring at him with emotionless green eyes.

The doctor just looked at him, waiting for him to speak, but instead he just opened the door, walked in first, and stepped inside, waiting for the doctor.

Suspicion rising, John walked into the empty flat, narrowing his brown at the brother, then looked ahead of him and froze in horror as the sight before him. "No," he whispered, fear and pain lurching at his gut.

The door closed behind him, but didn't pay attention.

He just gaped at the dead body of Sherlock Holmes with a bullet to the head. "You killed him!" He cried, whipping his head to the brother, who was just standing by the closed door, keeping his head low. "You killed him! Your own brother and you shot him." Never has he seen such treachery. Even Mycroft knew that the middle brother was bad news. So did Sherlock, but he trusted him more. He trusted him and it got him killed!

"I had to," Sherrinford replied darkly. He turned his green eyes to him and they were soulless.

John looked back at his best friend, wanting to place a hand over his pulse, but he knew. He knew that he was dead. The bullet went straight through the frontal lobe, tearing through that brilliant brain of his. He turned his head away, closing his eyes as he tried not to cry. He lost Sherlock, his best friend, twice and now Mary. He opened his eyes at the murderer with rage and disgust. "You killed your own little brother," he growled venomously, "and you don't even care. He trusted you! He trusted you when no one else did!" Even knew Sherrinford killed his wife. He knew it and Sherlock wanted that one glimmer of hope that his brother was not a murderer.

Sherrinford rolled his eyes.

Anger slowly began to rise as he began to see red.

Mary was dead.

Sherlock was dead.

Now there was no one to hold him back, but he knew. Oh, he knew that he had to survive for his daughter, but the chances were horrible.

Sherrinford had a gun as he did not.

"So," the broken man began with a voice empty and grim, staring into the green eyes of the murderer, "you're going to kill me? You killed my wife, my best friend… Why? Why me?" He shouted as pain was pulling at his heart, tearing threatening to come. "Why my wife and why your brother?"

The traitor just looked at him as if he was bored. "She had your heart. Sherlock would've died for you." He bitterly smirk. "My little brother was always an idiot."

John clenched his fists tight, wishing to punch the bastard dead in the face, but knew that he would have a bullet shot at him before he got the chance. Emily was the only one he had and there was no way he was going to risk it, even though, he had a very slim chance of getting out alive.

The thought of her being alone tore his heart out.

No parents or Godfather and a drunk for an aunt.

What kind of life was that to start out with?

Sherrinford's expression dropped, unamused. "You really look like you want to murder me."

"Of course I do!" He shouted with rage as his eyes began to burn with tears. "You murdered my family!"

"Oh, relax," a baritone voice spoke, making his eyes snap open. "He did no such thing."

John spun around so fast that the room was a blur and stared at his dead friend, who was getting up. "What the hell? You were shot! In the head!" The tears began to back away as his mind was racing with questions.

"Nope," Sherlock said with a small smile as he straightened his coat and dabbed a bare finger at the drying crimson liquid on his forehead. "Pretended." He sniffed the liquid and looked at his brother with wonder. "Paint?"

The older brother shrugged and looked at him. "Couldn't think of anything else."

John looked at the both of them, completely confused and lost. "Paint? It was _paint_?"

"Really?" His friend began, looking at him as if he was slightly taken aback. "You didn't notice?"

"I was too busy thinking that my best friend was dead! Again!" He shouted at him, looked at the bother, then back to his friend. "You were in on this?"

"No, actually." The detective looked at his brother, waiting for an explanation as John joined him.

Sherrinford began to laugh as he crossed his arms. "You should've seen the look on your face, little brother. The look of pure horror!"

"I thought you were going to kill me."

"That's why I did it. I needed you to be surprised." He stood up straight with a smile. "Revenge for shooting me."

John looked at the detective. "You shot him?"

"Had to make it look real," he simply answered, still looking at his brother.

"As I had to make your death seem real to Moriarty." The brother frowned. "Speaking of which, did he come by?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not yet."

John looked at his friend with utter disbelief. "Why were you still faking it when I was here?" He loudly asked, not wanting his question to go unignored. He lost too many people already and one of them was Sherlock faking his suicide!

He looked at him with apologetic eyes that had life returned to them. "Sorry about that."

"I thought you were dead! I wanted to kill your brother!" Anger was rushing over him as he wanted to punch both of the Holmes brothers. Why is it when Sherlock fakes his death, he was left out of the loop? Mycroft, Molly Hooper, and his own parents knew that he faked his suicide, but did John? No! Now the two brothers were the only ones who knew and he was ready to kill the second brother if he could.

"I know." The detective then looked up at his forehead and asked, "Does anyone have a cloth?"

Sherrinford approached him, taking out a white cloth from under his jacket. "Here. I knew you needed it." There was a hint of humor in his voice.

Sherlock took the cloth and began to whip the paint away, looking at his brother with wonder. "Real gun, but fake bullets?"

"Bullet," he corrected. "Only had to make one."

John glared at the older brother. "You could've told me," he growled.

"Wanted to see what would happen," he replied as he smirked at the two of them with humor in his eyes.

Sherlock turned to his brother. "You called me an idiot."

"Thought that was going to get your attention."

"I thought there was a plan." He tossed the stained cloth to his brother, who looked at it with unamused disgust and gingerly tossed it aside.

"There is and that's getting out alive," he replied, looking at the two companions.

Annoyance surged through John as he announced, "Can I ask why my wife's death is unanswered?"

"Morarty killed her and framed Sherrinford," Sherlock answered, staring into his brother's eyes. "What is Moriarty planning?"

"Obviously it's to kill you and him," he answered, gesturing to the annoyed doctor with his head.

"Anything else?" The detective demanded.

"Taking over England?" He answered with uncertainty as if he didn't know himself.

"Where is he?"

"Thought he would've came by after the gunshot."

"Could he be on his way?"

Sherrinford paused. "I'll check." Then hurried out the door.

John glared at his friend with crossed arms.

Sherlock looked at him. "What?"

"Stop dying," he ordered.


	15. Chapter 14

Sherrinford returned shortly after checking for Moriarty and his men. "Coast is clear," he announced in a hurry, making the two look at him. "We need to go. Now."

Sherlock gave a curt nod and allowed his brother to take the lead as they followed. "Do you have a car?" He asked as the trio were briskly walking to the nearest staircase.

"Yes," the older brother answered, looking dead ahead of him.

They fell silent as they carried on walking and down the stairs they went. When they got to bottom, the older brother stopped at a corner to peek over, then gave them the signal to continue into the abandoned lobby, then froze in horror as bomb was flashing in front of the desk.

"Run," the older brother whispered in horror and the three bolted for the front doors.

The trio burst through the doors, running to the black car that was parked in front and about fifteen seconds after leaving the doors, the abandoned complex blew and they felt it. Cars were hocking and starting to slowing down from the wreckage. Debris was falling from the explosion as the night air turned dark and thick with smoke around the area. "Is everyone alright?" Sherlock asked as he was sitting in the backseat with his friend as his brother was the the driver, watching the flaming remains of the three-storied building.

"I'm good," John answered, rubbing his head, looking out to what was left of the apartment complex.

"Fine," Sherrinford replied heavily, not taking his eyes of the sight before them.

The doctor sighed. "I can't believe we were almost in that."

They only had fifteen seconds. If they waited any longer, they would have been. The detective shoved the thought from his head he returned to reality. "Sherrinford," he began, looking at his brother with stern eyes. "We need to get out of here."

"Right." His brother started the car and began to pull away from the curb.

For a moment, they sat in silence, relieved that they all made it unscathed, until Sherlock looked at his brother with wonder. "Did you know about the bomb?" Hoping that he didn't.

His brother shook his head. "No. If I did, I would have gotten us out sooner. No wonder I didn't find Moriarty."

"How long was that bomb set for?" John asked.

"Probably about about two minutes. After Morinarty left and before Sherlock arrived."

"Do they know you are?" Sherlock questioned. "That you're my brother?" If Moriary did know, he didn't know what the criminal mastermind would do. Not only did he have Sherlock to take down, but he had to take Sherrinford and the older brother was more than likely going to targeted first.

"I don't know if he knows that I'm your brother, but he does know I was never on his side." He glanced at him through the rearview mirror, then announced, "John, I'm taking you home."

"Oh, thank God," the doctor sighed with relief as he leaned back in his seat staring at the black ceiling.

Sherlock just studied his friend, knowing that he was finally able to go home and be with his baby girl. He knew that was one of his greatest fears tonight- other than thinking his friend was dead for the second time- was that his daughter was going to have to live life without parents. She already lost her mother and there was no way that she was going to lose her father so soon. He was going to make sure of that and was not going to break his promise again.

* * *

><p>Sherlock saw his friend safely into his flat and when the nanny told the father that she was worried sick about him. The doctor was only relieved and just wanted to see his daughter right away, hurrying to the nursery. The detective stood back, awkwardly waiting as the nanny, a woman in her thirties with brown hair and eyes, was just staring at him with puzzlement and awe. He gave a awkward, friendly smile with a small wave, just waiting to say goodbye to his friend.<p>

John returned to the living room with a smile at the nanny. "Thank you, Becca, for looking after her for a late night."

Becca smiled kindly. "Don't mention it. I'm just glad that you're alright."

He turned to the detective with a smirk. "I'm glad that your brother is on our side."

Sherlock chuckled at that. "As am I. Well," he took a short breath, "I better get going and you stay safe." After all the excitement and worries for his friend's life, all he wanted to do was return to the flat and wait for Moiarty's next move. Then his phone then alerted him of a text. The detective pulled his phone from his coat pocket and look at the message from Lestrade, reading:

_Empty apartment complex exploded. We may need you._

He quickly responded. _Was already there. Moriarty did it and away.- SH_

"Lestrade," he explained as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. "Wanted to know about the explosion." He gave final smile to his friend. "I'll take you're going to take the day off tomorrow?"

John sighed, looking around the living room as if he was planning to do nothing, but spend time with his baby. "Yeah. Yeah, I might do that." He looked back at his friend with a small smile. "I'll talk to you… Whenever."

Sherlock smiled at that as it broke his heart that Mary was no longer around. "Sounds good."

The two said their final goodbyes, then the detective headed to his brother's car, who was ending a conversation on the phone. "Yes, I am fine," he said with reassurance as the detective climbed in the passenger seat and closed the door. "Look, my brother just got in and I have to dri- I will call. Tomorrow. Yes, I-" he sighed and said lowly, "I love you, too."

Sherlock looked at him, caught off guard by those words.

His brother sighed. "Yeah. Bye." Then hung up and placed his phone in the space between the seats.

"'I love you?'" The little brother repeated as if mockery. "Who the hell was that?" He chuckled with amusement. "You sound like you are seeing someone."

"I am," Sherrinford replied as he began to turn away from the curb.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, wanting to know more. "Who?"

"It does not concern you," he responded, not looking at him.

Annoyed that he was getting left out of something, the detective began to guess with a smirk. "You have a girlfriend."

"Yes," he heavily replied as if slightly annoyed. "She is my girlfriend."

Sherrinford was known for being the most gentleman out of the three brothers and knew how to keep a long term relationship, but only had a couple in his life. "What's her name?"

"Amelia. Six months we've been going out."

There was a pause as Sherlock was thinking of what to say next, not knowing if he wanted to annoy his brother or not as he was looking out the window. "Will I meet her?" He simply asked.

"No."

Sherlock looked at his brother, half surprised by his answer.

"I want to keep her safe. If Moriarty or anyone finds her, I'll never forgive myself." There was love and truth in his sly green eyes, rare to see as there was always deceit dancing behind those eyes.

Amused in the inside, the detective looked ahead of himself. "You do love her."

"I do." He then looked at him with a smirk and back to the road. "Still married to your work I see, little brother."

"Love is a human error," he darkly answered, not looking at his brother. Love was never important to him and at times it surprised people. It surprised them even more when one fakes an engagement. Him and Mary Watson's maid of honor, Janine, never spoke after that, which was no loss for him. Obviously.

Sherrinford just lightly chuckled with amusement with a light shake of the head.


	16. Chapter 15

By eight in the morning, Sherlock Holmes was already up and playing his violin when his brother walked in the living room from the upstairs bedroom, dressed in a borrowed white shirt and dark-blue trousers. His short, brown, curly hair was completely bed matted. "My God," Sherrinford said as he flopped on the couch. "Playing that thing at this time?"

"Yes. Problem?" Sherlock slightly turned his head to him with narrowed eyes, waiting for a comment, still playing the soft melody. He could've played much earlier, but didn't as he knew they both needed sleep.

His brother shook his head, raising his hands. "Not in the slightest."

Then the door opened. "Yoo-Woo," a familiar voice sang. The detective turned to face the door, still playing as Mrs. Hudson walked in with a smile and a tray of tea. "Sherlock, I brought you a cup of- Oh," she noticed Sherrinford as she closed the door with a friendly smile. "Who is this?"

"My brother," he answered as he lowered the violin. "Sherrinford, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Mrs. Hudson, my older brother, Sherrinford."

"Brother?" She related with a smile, walking up the table to set the tray down. "I didn't know Sherlock and Mycroft had another brother." She looked at him with friendly and kind smile.

Sherrinford stood up and gently took her hand with a kind smile with welcoming green eyes. "The middle brother. Sherlock is still the baby of the family," he said with a smile.

The detective rolled his eyes.

The landlady beamed at him as she stepped back and smiled at the two brothers as they looked at her. "Oh, you do like brothers," she said with giddy smile, putting her hands together adoringly. "You even have the same cheekbones."

The two looked at each other, then back to her, not seeing what she was talking about.

The older woman waved her hand, still smiling as she headed for the door. "I'll bring another cup, dear." Then she left before another word could be said.

"She seems nice," Sherrinford said with a smirk as he sat back down.

"You get used to her," Sherlock chuckled with amusement as he picked up his cup of tea and sipped it. "Hm," he said as he remembered something, then turned to his brother. "Mycroft said that he will be coming by today."

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he ran his hand through his curly hair. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied, looking back at the closed door in a pondering manner. "He said he wishes to speak to both of us. About last night." An hour ago he received a text from his brother telling him just that, making the detective hope that his eldest brother trusted the other one a little more than before.

Sherrinford moaned with annoyance as he leaned back in the couch. "Now I have to tell Amelia that I'm going to be late."

"Late?" Sherlock asked, baffled by the statement. Then smirked with amusement. "Don't tell me you have a date with her."

"No, she lives with me." He looked at him with unamused green eyes.

He smirked as he drew his cup to his lips. "How does that go?"

"It's fine." He rested his head back.

The skeptical detective sipped his tea, not taking his eyes off of him. "Do you really love her?"

"Yes, I really love her," he answered, resting his head back. "I also know my buisiness is dangerous, so I had her stay with me in case of anything. Yes, that is the truth." He raised his head with annoyance, feeling the skeptical gaze of his baby brother. "Then deduce me if you don't believe, Detective," he ordered with irritation and rested his head back again.

Sherlock took the order and immediately began to deduce his brother as his eyes quickly skimmed him and held nothing back. "You have been seeing a girl for about six months like you said, also I know the way you hardly mention or talk about her, you are trying to protect her. When you said that you told her that you wanted to protect her, I knew that you were not lying because you wear a watch."

Sherrinford slowly raised his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, then drifted to his silver watch that was on his right wrist.

"It is too expensive for you to buy it for yourself, but not for a girlfriend who is in love. On the back it is engraved. Probably 'Love, Amelia'? Maybe- she knows you are trying to protect her. You never take it off. Even though you only dated for six months, you may have had history with her." He began to slow his words as he saw the emotion of romance enter his brother's green eyes about his woman. "Also, you're my brother," he sighed, cutting it there. "I know you." He waved a hand. "Sort of."

His brother smirked with bafflement with a light shake of the head. "You really do have the talent."

He chuckled at that as he took another sip of tea, knowing that he, too, could've had the same ability, but instead, Sherrinford ignore it and went his own way. The complete opposite of what his little brother had done, only in later in life doing his own way, but working on the side of the angels. His brother worked on both sides.

* * *

><p>By the time eleven came by, the two brothers were dressed and when Mycroft came by, the meeting was serious, well, as serious as it could get while the baby brother was just plucking at this violin strings on the table as the other two took the chairs, talking as he was hardly paying attention. Until the eldest brought up last night's explosion, it caught his attention.<p>

"So, how did Moriarty escape?" Mycroft asked with skeptical smile, staring at the middle brother sitting in front of him.

"He left while I was handling John and Sherlock," he answered. Then looked up at the brother with irritation. "But I didn't know that he was going to set up a bomb let alone leave! I thought he was in the building the whole time."

"Did you?" He softly asked, completely not believing his words at all.

"Sherrinford would not leave himself to die," Sherlock stepped in, placing the instrument on the table, staring at the eldest, earning both of their attention. "None of us knew that the building was empty and that we were the only ones left."

"Moriarty was starting to question me," Sherrinford softly murmured, looking away from Mycroft as if pondering.

Mycroft looked at him with suspicious, blue eyes. "Whose side are really on, Sherrinford?"

The middle brother looked at him with surprise. "You question my loyalty of my own brothers over Moriarty?" A quick, bitter smirk formed, then disappeared. "Of course I'm on your side."

Sherlock noticed that expression in his second brother's eyes that looked to be asking, "Why don't you believe me?"

Mycroft leaned forward, staring into his brother's eyes and slowly questioned, "Then who killed Mary Watson?"

"Moran," he answered.

Sherlock turned his gaze to him, wanting to hear more about this unfamiliar name.

"His name is Sebastian Moran. Morarty's right-hand man." His green eyes grew dark as they slowly fell away from the eldest. "He was going to kill me if I didn't prove loyalty to Moriarty." He smirked. "He almost did." His smirked faded and looked Mycroft in the eyes. "He wanted to frame me. No one knows that I'm the third Holmes brother, but if they did…" he looked at his brother in the eye and quietly said, "I really don't want to know."

Sherlock began to think. If they did know, they would use Sherrinford to get at him, but since the explosion didn't kill them, Moriarty may be plotting another plan. Which meant they had to be ready for anything. He looked at his two brothers and stated, "We have to find out Morairty's plan."

"How?" Sherrinford snapped, looking at him with annoyance. "If I show my face again, they'll kill me. They know I'm in league with you."

"Then that is a risk we'll have to take," Mycroft said.

The detective looked at him with annoyance and defense. "You're going to risk our brother's life?"

"Why not? Clearly he chose the enemy first." He glared his pale-blue eyes at the double-agent.

The middle brother looked at him as if shocked in a way. "I made a deal with you," Sherrinford quietly stated as if in disbelief by his brother's words.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sherlock growled at the eldest, earning the both of their stunned gazes. "Sherrinford saved John's life as well as mine just in case Moriarty was around. You are going to sentence him to death if you send him back." He stood up, staring Mycroft in the eyes, who had his usual emotionless stare that was always hard to read. Would the eldest really risk their brother's life, who actually played as a double-agent and helped him?

Mycroft leaned back in the armchair, looking at Sherrinford with calmer eyes, gaining the two brother's eyes. "I see that Sherlock trusts you. Very well. I will not send you in harm's way, but we have to find out Moriarty's plans and since you are no longer the eye in the inside, you may have to tell us what you know." He placed his fingertips together, studying the double-agent with a faint smirk.


	17. Chapter 16

Sherrinford let everything out on what he knew about Moritaty and it wasn't much at all. All he knew is that Moriarty wanted to bring England to its knees. The meeting of the three brothers came to an end as Mycroft left after telling the middle brother that they needed to speak out, then left the two brothers at the flat to think of what the unpredictable Moriarty would come up next, but of course, there was nothing to do, but wait. He did, however, inform John about this Sebastian Moran that his brother told him briefly about.

"I'm sorry," the older brother sighed as Sherlock had just finished sending a text to John.

Sherlock looked at him, not sure if he heard right. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry." Sherrinford looked up at him from the couch, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His green eyes didn't know where to look, until he hung his head. "I should've told you sooner about Moriarty."

The detective shook it off as he placed his phone on the table and picked up his violin from its stand. "You didn't know much yourself. We all know he wants to bring England to its knees."

"He needs to crush hope," his brother finished, causing the detective to stop what he was doing in realization.

"Killing me," Sherlock slowly answered as he reclined his hand away from his violin's neck.

"He wants you to suffer, Sherlock," he said as the detective slowly stood up straight and looked at him. "He wants you to mentally and emotionally suffer in your final minutes." He slowly raised his head, looking at his baby brother with grim eyes. "He kills the famous detective; no one will stop him."

Sherlock leaned over, looking him dead in the eyes. "What," he began in a low and almost desperate voice, "is he planning?"

His voice was quiet and factual when he answered, "Your death."

The detective slowly stood up straight, trying to understand what he meant. He knew that Moriarty wanted to kill him, but what was he exactly planning? There was no way for him to catch him if he didn't know how to or where to find him. Sherrinford obviously didn't know anything at all. They certainly didn't want to do a last minute thing, fearing that other lives would be lost.

"It won't be another suicide," Sherrinford stated as he stood up, straightened his black suit jacket, and looked away with a heavy heart. "It also won't be a bullet to the head. Or a bomb." He gave small shrug with a sad shake of the head. "Nothing quick."

Sherlock was too lost in his own mind to even hear his brother's words, too busy thinking of what the criminal mastermind was plotting.

"I think shooting you in the head would be the saddest way for you go," he sadly admitted.

Now those words caught his attention.

Sherlock looked at his brother with wonder. "What?"

"That brilliant brain of yours." He looked back at him. "It was almost hard for me to shoot you, even though I knew that it was a fake."

The detective just looked at him, caught off guard by his words. He glanced around, thinking of something to say, but the only thing that he could respond with was, "You think it would be a sad way if… Really?" He never heard anyone say that about or to him before. It never even occurred to him that being shot in the head would be a sad ending. Most people think any death is a sad ending. Clearly it was sadder to shoot the detective in the head.

"Your brain… A bullet tearing through in." He shook his head. "It would be a shame." There was almost sadness in his voice as the detective was beginning to understand.

He only nodded and muttered, "Yeah." He scratched his head, never thinking of it before. "Yeah…"

There was a pause as the two brothers didn't look at each other.

Sherrinford then heavily sighed. "Well, I better go down and see Mr. Ray-Of-Sunshine."

Sherlock chuckled at that, never hearing anyone call Mycroft that before. "I see you are getting looser," he commented with a humorous smile, almost glad that his old and smart-allic brother was returning.

He gave a half shrug. "Well…" He smiled at his little brother. "I'm back with my troublemaker of a baby brother."

The detective smirked. "Says the double-agent."

He shrugged. "I only hope that he isn't going to ask about diet tips."

Sherlock looked at him with a smirk of bafflement. "You know about his diet?"

"Oh, God yes. After I first met you and John, you should've seen the way he was looking at a bakery we past." He then looked at him with wonder as smirk was slowly forming. "Didn't you see the way he was eyeing us today? He looked like he was jealous that we were the skinnier ones."

The brothers chuckled at their brother's sad diet, wondering why he ever decided to go on that thing in the first place.

"I am going to ask him about it," Sherrinford chuckled as he grinning like a child. "Hell, it may be the only chance I'll get." He shrugged and frowned. "Unless Mycroft beats me to death with his umbrella."

The detective chuckled as he lightly shook his head. "What would Mother say?" He changed his voice to match his family members. "'Mycroft, why did you kill your brother? He called me fat.'"

The two began to snigger like children who played a prank.

Sherrinford began to wave his head, still smiling. "Okay, okay. I've got to go."

Sherlock slowly gained his composure and gave a final chuckle as his brother headed to the door. It was nice to know that he could make fun of his eldest brother with someone else. Especially with the middle brother like they were kids again. He took a deep breath and looked ahead of himself in memory. "God, remember how annoying we were to Mycroft?"

Sherrinford looked at him. "What do you mean? I'm going to annoy him right now. It may be my only chance."

Sherlock smiled at that and said their goodbye,s, still chuckling then his older brother was out the door. He walked to the window to look out to the street and found Mycroft standing patently and shortly Sherrinford stepped out.

* * *

><p>The older brother gave a fake smile when Sherrinford approached him. "Having a little chat with Sherlock, I see."<p>

The middle brother kept his humor hidden very well, looking his older brother in the eyes. "You could say that."

"Come," Mycroft ordered, leading his brother to the deli next to the detective's flat, and sat in the back where no one would notice them. "I see you and Sherlock are becoming friends again," he stated, voice dripping with false amusement while Sherrinford was getting comfortable in the plastic seat in front of him.

Sherrinford looked at him with wonder as his head was slightly tiled, not knowing what he was getting at. "I don't know what you-"

Mycroft glared darkness at him, wanting the truth.

He sighed, realizing what his older brother was after. He rubbed his face, not knowing what to say. "I know I almost screwed up our little brother's life, but-"

"He could've became the enemy," he grimly stated, not taking his pale eyes off him.

"As could've I," he murmured, looking him in the eyes, hoping that Mycroft would forgive him. Sherlock didn't seem to have a problem, then again, Sherlock probably didn't think about it.

"One was enough, but Sherlock?" There was almost disgust in his voice like a angry father trying to keep calm. "You know how he was and is. If he followed you into that life, we would have two Morairtys."

Sherrinford looked at him with utter bafflement, not believing his brother's words. "Why are you holding this?" He asked in a hushed voice. "Why are this worried about this? This was twenty years ago. Sherlock _didn't _become the enemy and he is alive. The cocaine thing was all him-"

Mycroft started ice-cold daggers into him, making him freeze his sentence. "You introduced it to him," he said in a deathly cold tone. "You placed him in that lifestyle."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing and leaned forward, placing his hands together. "I didn't give him a syringe and say, 'Take this. It'll do you wonders.' No, that was not me. That was Sherlock. I was never drug-addict and never wanted my little brother to be one." When he first heard that Sherlock was on cocaine at the age of twenty, it nearly broke his heart, but was too busy working to worry about it and didn't want to worry about it.

"You should've been there," the eldest growled.

"I know," he muttered, looked down at his hands on the table. "I know." It was very bad time for him as he was working with dangerous men. If he screwed up once, they would've killed him. He couldn't avoid distractions and it was the stupidest mistake he ever made.

"I thought I was going to out live Sherlock. I thought he was going to overdose before he was twenty-five." Pain and anger was starting to leak through the eldest's voice. "I thought that _you _were going to destroy his life and make him the enemy, then I realized, that you were going to send him to his grave with his veins full of cocaine. Then you become the enemy and was wanted for anything, but murder. But I knew if Sherlock overdosed, I knew it was going to be your fault."

Sherrinford raised his head and looked him dead in the eyes. "No," he deafeningly said. "Hs death would not be-"

"Instead of drugs," his voice grew lighter. "Moriarty might kill him because you won't tell us anything."

"I don't know anything!" He hissed. "I told you I don't!"

"Why should I believe you?"

He just stared at him with wide eyes. How could his brother trust him? He lied time and time again. Hell, he wasn't even there when Sherlock was at his worst. Feeling defeated, he slowly bowed his head, not knowing what to think or say.

"If Sherlock dies," Mycroft began in a dark, emotionless tone that burned like ice, "and you are there, I will put blame on you for his death, even though you aren't the one who killed him."

He looked at him with terror-filled eyes and meekly said, "But I wouldn't-"

"Just in case you didn't say anything to prevent it." Mycroft gave a false pitied tsk. "Now you care about our little brother twenty years later." He stood up and walked out of the deli, leaving Sherrinford lost in his own mind, fearing that he failed Sherlock twenty years ago and there was no way of fixing it.


	18. Chapter 17

It was a silent night at one in the morning as Sherlock Holmes was sleeping, sprawled on the bed with no worries in the world. Not even a dream entered his mind, until there was a knock on the door. Thinking that it was in his dream or mind, he ignored it and rolled on his side.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Groaning, he lazily opened his eyes, got out of bed, threw on his robe, and staggered to the door. "Coming," he called with annoyance. He opened the door to a blond woman, no older than forty staring at him with distress and fear in her blue eyes.

"I'm sorry about the hour," she gently began, "but I need your help. I-"

Sherlock didn't want to hear it. "Your boyfriend was attacked and you'd rather come to me for help, yada-yada-yada, but I am closed at this time of night. Good night." He was about to close the door, but she placed her hand on the door, looking him in the eyes.

"My boyfriend is Sherrinford, Mr. Holmes."

He stared at her, his blood running cold. "Amelia," he whispered and quickly slid aside, holding the door open. "Come in and take a seat." Something was wrong. Why would Amelia be here and if Sherrinford was attacked… God, was he alright?

The woman walked in and sat on the couch with a heavy heart.

Sherlock closed the door and walked up to her, looking her in the eyes with his hands behind his back, trying to act calm. "What happened?" He demanded in a cold voice.

Amelia took a shaky breath. "He told me about you. If anything happened, I should go directly to you." Her lip began to tremble. "I fear… I fear they are going to kill him."

"Who are?"

"Moriarty and his men. I have no idea how they found him. Sherrinford was always good at losing people he. I-"

"You are a librarian, but wasn't always one as you worked along side my brother. You have known him awhile and trusted him quickly due to the situations that you were in, I believe, that's why you moved in with him so quickly. You knew that he was trying to protect you and the necklace you wear is what he gave you only three months ago as a promise. Now, you didn't come home as you were already home." He placed his hands together under his chin. "What happened at one in morning?"

"Someone came to the door and it's unusual at this of night, so he grabbed a gun in case. But they were too quick and I heard a scuffle. I went out to see what was wrong, fearing they were burglars, but instead," she broke into tears, "he had a gun to his head."

"Who was the gunman?"

She shook her head, whipping her eyes. "I don't know. All I know is that Sherrinford told him not to kill him in front of me. Then he took him away in a car and threatened to kill him if I tried anything." She began to cry again as she covered her eyes.

Sherlock looked at her with an emotionless gaze as he tried to think of an idea. Anything. His brother's life is in danger if he is even alive. "You're going to stay here tonight," he ordered, causing her to look up at him with confusion as he walked back to his room. "Give me a moment." He threw on a his usual black suit, black leather shoes, dark blue shirt with a black jacket, quickly did the morning routines, and walked back in the living room. "You can take the upstairs bedroom and if- I should be back- but if I'm not back in the morning, just let the landlady know what happened if she comes in. Otherwise, don't worry about it."

Amelia nodded as he was putting his coat on. "Sherlock?"

He looked at her.

She stood up and handed him a piece of paper and a key. "Here's the address and key to the house."

The detective took the address and phone number, placing it his pants pocket along with the key.

"Your brother trusts you more than you think."

Sherlock looked at her. "Interesting because he knows I am the same with him."

A quick light shown in her blue eyes, but it quickly disappeared. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

He gave a dip of the head, then walked out of the flat, hurrying to a taxi and to his brother's home. If he was his brother was going to get killed, there may only be be a short time left to save him if any at all.

* * *

><p>Sherlock told the cabbie to wait for a moment when they arrived at his brother's home. The detective approached the white door and saw no sign of forced entry like the girlfriend said. He unlocked the white door with the key Amelia had given him and slowly walked in. He flicked on the lights and scanned the living room. No signs of attacks was noticed which meant Sherrinford opened the door and they aimed the gun at him immediately. Then he noticed a handgun laying ten feet away from the door, no doubt belonging to Sherrinford.<p>

Then his phone began to ring.

The detective pulled it out from his coat pocket and didn't recognize the number, but answered it either way. "Hello?"

"Ruin Sherlock Holmes and bring England to its knees," a familiar voice said. "But how, oh how, will I bring England to its knees?"

"Moriarty," he growled coldly. "Where is he?"

"William Scott or Sherrinford Holmes? Your traitor or my traitor?"

He obviously learnt about his brother's past.

"Where is my brother?" He demanded in a dark tone, not wanting any stalling.

"Oh, your brother." It sounded like he was smiling. "That's sounds so weird." His voice turned to a pretend anger. "'I am going to kill your brother!' That sounds so… Evil. I am threatening Sherlock Holmes brother." He was now grinning. "Oh, I think I like this. Sounds so much more serious."

Sherlock's lip began to curl with irritation.

Moriarty became serious. "No, really. Your brother is going to be killed in about…" He began to think, "one hour? Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Depends who you want to save first," he answered quietly. "I was going to have Moran kill him, but the girlfriend came in. Now I want something done differently. You save someone else or your brother. What would you choose?"

"Who's the other?"

"Well, she's being picked up right now as I am, well, I'm by the docks. It's Molly Hopper, by the way."

"Molly," he whispered with fear, dread creeping upon his face.

"Yep! It is dear Molly Hooper, the one who helped in faking your death and now… She has another roll to play, but it may be her final one." He sang the last part. "So who will live, Sherlock, and who will die? Your brother or Molly Hooper? Oh, by the way. After one of them dies, let's just things will start heating up. After all: Make Sherlock suffer, then bring England to its knees. Your brother is at the docks and Molly will be at the hospital. You will only save one, Sherlock. Only one. After you save one, the other will die instantly. One hour. Starting now."

The line went dead.

Immediately, Sherlock dialed Lestade.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered.

"Molly Hooper is in danger. Moriarty has her and I need you and your men ready to-"

"We're on the way!" He cried as he was alert.

"No, wait," he hissed. "There's more. He has another captive at the docks. I'll go there, but we have to do this at the same time. If one gets saved first, the other will die. We have one hour."

"Alright. We'll stand by."

"But don't go near the hospital. Don't go anywhere near St. Bart's unless I tell you to, understand?" If this gets messed up, Sherrinford, his brother, will die and he was not willing to lose a brother. No matter what they did, he was not going to bury his older brother.

"Yeah, but-"

"Don't ask just do it," he began to panic at thought of more than likely his brother was the one that was going to die. "Just give me time to get to the docks and don't tell John. He's with his baby." He hung up and quickly headed out the door, locked, and jumped into the waiting cab. "To the docks," he ordered.

The cab turned around and looked at him with confusion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes with impatience. "London docks, yeah, that place. Now move!"

The driver quickly did what he was told.

The detective looked at his watch, seeing that he was going to be there by 1:25. But an hour, why an hour? That was more than enough time, wasn't it?


	19. Chapter 18

When Sherlock arrived at the docks, he paid the taxi and sent him on his way, who looked to be relieved. Not knowing where to start as the crescent moon was over head, giving some light, he began to walk as the dark water looked grim as ever with a pinch of the moon's watery reflection. Somewhere in one of those storage holds on the docks, was Sherrinford. With his guard up and senses heightened, the detective stealthily carried on his way, searching for his brother and Moriarty's men. The only light were the porch lights on the houses, the moon, and in the city across the way. He would peek in each hold, but either it was too dark or empty, so he would carry on his way as time was ticking. He would text Lestrade, telling him to stand by as he was nearing Sherrinford or so he hoped. Then in fourth storage unit, he peeked in the window and found his brother on his knees.

The detective quickly texted Lestrade, telling him to move in to get Molly, and then he was heading for the wooden door and opened it, letting the outside porch's light shine in.

Immediately, his brother raised his head, revealing a cut on his forehead with blood running down past his eye. "No," he whispered with horror. "You'd rather have her die?" He cried with large eyes.

A man around average height stepped out of the shadows, revealing short blonde hair and a gun in his right hand. Since there wasn't much light, it was hard for the detective to make him out, but by the way he was dressed, he was certainly a man who was not afraid to get his hands dirty.

"I'll take you're Moran," Sherlock stated as he looked at the man's dark eyes.

The man chuckled with humor. "You're right." He looked at him with a smirk. "Now, I have to let him go. You chose to save your brother," he shrugged as he casually walked up the hostage. "Deal's a deal." He grabbed Sherrinford by the arm, heaving him to his feet, pulled out a switchblade, cut the rope, and released him. "You can go. Just like that."

The detective bowed his head, wanting to get out of here soon as possible. "Thank you."

"You idiot," Sherrinford hissed as he limped to him, rubbing his wrists.

"Let's go," he growled to his brother, holding out a hand and smiled at Moran. "Thank you for everything." He took his bother around the shoulder.

Then a phone rang.

"Hello?" Moran answered.

Sherlock was trying to get his wounded brother out of the shack, but a gunshot rang out and Sherrinford stumbled, clenching his left arm. The detective looked at Moran, who was aiming his gun again. Sherlock grabbed his brother, and tried to get him around the corner of the doorway, which he succeeded just as a bullet missed them both.

"What did you do?" Sherrinford hissed in pain.

"Lied. Run." The brothers then bolted, aiming for the street that was a block or so away from the docks, but didm;t get the chance to even be close as another shot rang out. The detective skidded to a halt, turned and found his brother laying on the ground and hurried to him. Forgetting that he had a bad leg, he tried to throw his brother's arm around his neck, trying to get him to his feet.

"Sherlock," Sherrinford hissed in pain.

"Get up!" He turned his head to Moran who was approaching them and tried to get his brother to his feet. "Can you stand?"

"He shot me in the side," he answered in pain, slowly going to the pavement.

Sherlock's heart was slamming against his chest as he was fearing the worst. "No, you're not going to die. Amelia. She came. She's worried sick about you. You need to-"

"Yeah his bother's dying," a voice said from behind, telling him that the shooter was on the phone. "What do I do?"

There was a pause.

Sherlock quickly pulled out his own phone and began to dial for the medics.

"I think he'll be dead by the time you come," he heard Moran say as his own phone was ringing.

"State your emergency," the operator came on Sherlock's phone.

"My brother has been shot we are by the docks. Um…" He quickly thought of their location and gave the address, then hung up.

"My boss told me to let your brother die," the shooter loudly announced just as he hung up.

Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder as his brother caughed.

"I kill John Watson's wife, now I kill your brother." He smiled as he began to back away. "Who's next on my list. Molly Hooper? My boss said that she's safe, but she deserves to die too." He began to turn and walk away. "See you later, Mr. Holmes. Obviously I'm not talking to the one that's dying."

The detective looked back at his brother, knowing that he couldn't roll him on his back due to the bullet wound. Jumping over to the other side of his brother, he pressed down on the wound, causing the wounded brother to hiss in pain. "They are on their way," he told him, trying to remain calm as warm and cooling blood was on his hands.

"I knew I was going to die like this," Sherrinford weakly said, facing the opposite direction. "A bullet."

Sherlock felt anger and fear pulsate through his heart. "You're not going to die," he repeated. "The medics are on their way. You just need to hang in there."

He felt his brother take a shaky breath, closing his eyes, then opened them the detective saw that they were glistening with tears in the moon's light. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry for everything that I did, Sherlock."

"Shut up," he hissed, not wanting this now.

"I should've been there when you needed me."

"Shut up. I'm not going to have my brother die. They are on the way and-" his voice faded as she looked at dark liquid that was staining his own hands. His brother's blood. The night's breeze brushed against them, sending a grim chill down the detective's spine.

His brother coughed, then asked in a voice that was trying to stay strong, "Your heart stopped, didn't it?"

Sherlock gave a small nod as he swallowed, knowing what he was talking about. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what it was like?" His voice was uneasy either from the fear, pain, or weakness. Maybe all three.

"Peaceful," he muttered as he remembered feeling nothing as he was laying on the floor of his mind palace with nothing to fear or worry. No pain, nothing. Until the thought of John being in danger struck through him like electricity.

"My heart will stop by the time I get to hospital," he whispered.

"How do you-"

"Look at the blood, little brother."

He did, lifting up a hand from the sticky blood as more blood was flowing.

"I should be going into shock right now, but I don't want to panic my baby brother."

Sherlock bowed his head, closing his eyes tight to fight back the tears at those words. So many things his brothers did to protect him. Even the second eldest was still trying to protect him to make up for all the danger he placed him in. He opened his eyes and tried to act brave. "I'm fine," he said in the strongest voice he could manage.

"You're lying."

The detective felt like a child, trying to be brave for his two older brothers when they were going to school when he didn't want them to go, but now, he didn't want his brother to die. Not like this.

"Sherlock."

He didn't hear him.

His brother was dying and now he had to do was wait. That's what he always did was wait. Had to wait for Moriarty's next move after Mary Watson's death. Wait for his brothers to return from school. Wait for Sherrinford to contact him when the detective was at university. Wait for the ambulance to arrive to save his dying brother. Why was there so much waiting?

"William."

The detective looked at his brother with red eyes as tears were blurring his vision, never hearing anyone call him by his first name for years.

Then, they heard it. The distant sirens began to echo through the area, heading to their direction.

Sherlock quietly sighed with relief as he continued to put pressure on the wound.


	20. Chapter 19

Sherrinford was right.

His heart did stop on the way to hospital and it was still refusing to beat.

The trip to the hospital was nerve wrecking for the detective, who was trying to stay calm, but in the inside, his heart was slamming against his chest. Upon arrival, he ran into Lestrade and Molly, but he was so caught up with his brother, he didn't have time to talk. Sherlock was with Sherrinford till they led him in the operating room, where the detective stayed out, forcing him to the waiting room.

He couldn't sit still as he would pace, text Mycroft, Amelia, and John to inform them, but the only one replied was the girlfriend, who was on her way. How could he be so foolish? He saw that his brother had a limp. He saw that he was wounded! But did he care? No. He just ran, expecting him to catch up, leaving his brother to get shot in the back. His heart was still not beating and that meant that the doctor could give up and walk up to him, telling him that his brother was dead.

"Sherlock?"

He turned around to find Molly Hooper, staring up at him with large, brown eyes, dressed in a pale pink robe and pajamas, clearly kidnapped from her home.

"I heard about your brother. I thought you could use the company." She had a small smile on her face as her eyes were starting to get drowsy.

Sherlock looked at her with puzzlement. "It's almost two in the morning and you were a hostage. You don't have to-"

"Yeah, but your brother was shot." She gave a small smile. "I heard about Moriarty's plan, but I didn't think of what you could do." She looked at him with grateful eyes as the smile faded. "Thank you."

He dipped his head. "You're welcome." He noticed two open chairs and offered for her to take a seat, and they both did.

They sat in silence as Sherlock was worried about his brother, knowing that it was going to be his fault. He should've paid attention to his brother's injuries. What was he going tell Mycroft? That Sherrinford is dead because he didn't pay attention for once? Would his brother even care? Surly their parents would. Would anyone care about the middle brother's death beside him? He then noticed Molly rubbing her arms as if she was cold.

The gentleman removed his coat and draped it over his fiend's shoulders, who looked at him with gentle eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He just gave a dip of the head as he hunched over with his elbows on his knees, returning to his thoughts.

She hesitatingly placed a hand on his shoulder. "You look like you blame yourself for this," she quietly said.

"What if I do?" He darkly muttered.

"This isn't your-"

"He had a limp," he cut in as tears were threatening to come. "And I ignored it." He bowed his head. Why weren't they coming in to give them news? Was his brother dead or not? Did they get his heart to start again or was it refusing to beat? Why were the doctors not coming out?

"It's not your fault," she whispered as her voice became drowsy, but trying to remain alert.

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, looking at her with uncertainty. "Are you sure you don't want to go home? You are dressed in your pajamas."

"Then you'll be alone," she whispered as her head fell on his shoulder, quickly falling asleep.

He pulled his coat up over her as a blanket and looked up at the ceiling, replaying himself pressing down on his brother's wound, trying to keep pressure on it. Trying to keep his brother alive. At least he that. At least he didn't sit there like a idiotic child, not knowing what to do. He knew that his brother needed him. He lost his brother for ten years and was not planning on burying him.

Then a familiar woman walked in the door and looked at the detective with worry-filled blue eyes. "How is he?" Amelia quietly asked, placing a hand to her necklace.

"They still have to start his heart," Sherlock heavily answered, looking ahead of himself. _Are you going to tell her? Are you going to tell her that you left him to get shot? _He shoved the voice out of his mind.

"Sherlock, I am so sorry that this-"

He waved his hand. "No. Don't. I should've seen this coming." But he didn't. He forgot that his brother was injured already, having a limp that slowed him down. He saw the cut over his brother's eye. There was more than likely more of those on his body if he also had a limp. He wasn't just a hostage for a game, he was beaten.

"Girlfriend?" Amelia asked with a smile, gesturing to the sleeping Molly with her head.

Sherlock shook his head. "Freind. Kidnapped by Moriarty for a little game," he bitterly answered, surprised that he actually managed to save both of them, well… Almost. He then remembered Moran's words when he said both of them deserve to die. Did he mean that he was still going to come after Molly? He looked at her with concern, hoping that it was not true. He was not going to lose his brother, John's wife, and friend to the same person.

Amelia quietly gasped in horror at his reply, looking at the woman with sympathy. She looked back at the detective with worry. "Did they managed to get his heart to beat?"

He slowly shook his head, not looking at her.

Tears began to flood her blue eyes as covered her mouth and began to cry, sitting beside the detective.

Not good at comforting, he simply placed a hand on her shoulder as his other arm was being used as a pillow. Instead of worrying about to the two women, he left for his mind palace, going into memories that he hardly ever returned to. Like playing with his two brothers or annoying them or missing them. One of those, if not all of those, made his eyes burn with tears. Especially the one when he was waiting for Sherrinford to come to him when he was getting addicted to drugs and Mycroft was the only brother who tried to help and when he never heard from the middle brother while he was in university. After Sherlock left to do his own life, it was like he accidentally cut his middle brother out of his life.

Then a middle-aged doctor approached him. "Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock, gently shook Molly awake as he stood up and approached him, prepared to be told of his brother's fate as the girlfriend was practically holding her breath. "Yes?"

"Your brother is very lucky," the doctor said, looking him in the eye. "For five minutes his heart did not beat, but now we've finally got it started and the operation is on its way."

It was like a storm had drifted and the detective never felt so lighter as he practically sighed in relief, "Thank you," with a smile as the doctor smiled at him and began to walk away.

Amelia began to cry with joy and Molly smiled with happiness, still tired, but awake.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, knowing that his brother was going to be alright. His brother was going to live.

Molly then noticed his coat, grew immediately embarrassed as she stood up and walked up to him. "I am so sorry." She handed him back his coat. "I didn't mean to-"

He shook his head with a smile, not minding about it at all. "Don't worry about it." He looked at the composing girlfriend and her. "Molly, this is Amelia, my brother's girlfriend." He turned to Amelia. "Amelia, this is Molly Hooper, my friend and pathologist."

The two women shook hands with kind smiles.

"I heard about what happened," the girlfriend began with sympathy as she was drying her eyes. "I really am sorry that they put you through that. Sorry. Little emotional," she added with an embarrassed smile.

Molly smiled as comforted the woman. "No, it's fine. I understand. Also, I'm alright. Sherlock had it organized and I'm safe, but Moriarty's men got away though." She looked at him with a frown, not sure if he heard about that or not.

"They always do," Sherlock grumbled with annoyance, remembering Moran just walking away.

The pathologist looked back at the woman on a higher note. "So you're with Sherrinford?"

She nodded. "We've been together for six months, but we've worked together for awhile." She grinned in relief. "Now he's going to be okay." A couple of tears of joy escaped.

Sherlock didn't look at Molly, knowing that she felt that way about him and she didn't look at him either, but kept smiling with relief at the woman.

One thing was important, though, and that was Sherrinford was going be okay.

* * *

><p>Shortly after the good news, Sherlock gave Molly a kiss on the cheek as she was leaving for home, comforted and safe, knowing that the detective had her back. He texted the sleeping Mycroft the news of their brother pulling through and about an hour later, the two of them were able see the wounded man. When they walked in, Sherlock felt his heart heavy, not knowing what his brother would say.<p>

Sherrinford weakly smiled at the two. "My baby brother and my girlfriend… That's a surprise."

"I came to him for help," Amelia explained as she approached his side, taking his hand. Tears escaped as she smiled sadly as she whispered, "I thought I was never going to see you again."

He smirked at her. "I'd never leave you that easily." He turned to his brother with a smile. "So, little brother… Hello."

The three of them chuckled.

"Glad to see you're better," Sherlock smiled at his cheerful brother with a lighter heart, but still felt the guilt.

His older brother shrugged. "Could be worse." Sensing something was off, he turned to his girlfriend with gentleness. "Could you leave us for a moment, love?"

Amelia kissed his head. "Sure." Then she walked out of the room.

Sherlock took a heavy breath, not looking at him. "Sherrinford, I am so sorry that I did that. I forgot that you were already injured and I-" "Sherlock-" "should've planned it better and not have left you to get-"

"William."

He looked at him large, pain-filled eyes as he felt like a chid, begging for forgiveness from his brother for stealing his school books, so he wouldn't have to go to school.

His older brother looked in the eyes with softness. "It wasn't your fault. We were getting shot at- You didn't know what to do. I don't blame you, little brother."

The tears threatened to return. "You could've died. Your heart wasn't even beating for five minutes-"

Sherrinford sighed, bowing his head, then back at him stern gentleness. "You and I could have died many times before. I don't blame you and neither should you. Now stop."

Sherlock nodded, fighting the tears as he heeded his brother's words.


	21. Chapter 20

"I can't believe my two sons were shot in a year apart!" Mrs. Holmes cried out in anger as the Holmes family was gathered at the flat of 221B, two weeks after the middle son was shot. This was also the first time that the family was reunified after ten years and this is how it was started two minutes ago: The conversation of middle son being shot. The older woman looked at her youngest son, who was standing by the door, with large worry-filled eyes. "Please tell me you'll find the shooter."

"I'm not dead," Sherrinford sighed as he was sitting at the table pinching the bridge of his nose, tried of his mother's exaggeration. The first minute when he saw his parents, they were so happy to see him, now since they were told that he was shot… Things weren't as pretty.

"Well, you could be," Mr. Holmes commented, catching their attention as he was looking at him with wide eyes. "We could've lost our two sons" He turned to the youngest and back to the middle brother.

"How delightful," Mycroft mused with a false smile from the armchair. "A new game my little brothers have: Who can survive getting shot?"

Sherlock turned to him. "It's quite fun. Care to join us?"

His eldest brother narrowed his eyes at him as if to say "If Mummy wasn't here, I would send you far away", but couldn't since he knew England needed the detective at this moment.

"So what are we going to do about Moriarty?" The middle brother asked, looking at the detective, who turned his gaze to him. He wanted the subject to be changed and back to the important things. He loved his parents, but ten years is not easy to make up for. "He and Moran are still out there."

Before Sherlock was about to say anything, their mother cut in. "He better not mess with my sons anymore," she stated with protectiveness as she sat up straight in a matter-of-fact, making all the sons look at her.

Sherrinford sighed as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please, Mother," Mycroft said in a logical state as he turned at the two younger brothers as if he was looking at two troublemakers- which they were. "As if that will ever happen."

Sherlock ignored his last statement, but knew that it was true. One being a double agent and the other was a detective who uses cases as an alternate high was not a good way to keep out of trouble.

"Well, I know," Mrs. Holmes scoffed. "I just don't want my boys to get hurt. Especially when I haven't seen my boy for ten years." She looked at Sherrinford, who looked away with shame. Before she was about to open her mouth for a lecture, a phone's alert went off as Sherrinford pulled his phone from his coat.

"That was me," he muttered. "Sorry. It was Amelia."

Mrs. Holmes then looked at her second son with curiosity as the worry left. "When am I going to meet your girlfriend?"

Sherlock turned at his bother, wanting to hear this one.

"Um…" He looked at her with puzzlement. "Whenever you want to?" He ended with uncertainty, returning to the text.

"Will I have grandchildren?"

Sherlock and Mycroft nearly busted up laughing as they were sniggering like children while Sherrinford's eyes grew wide. "Um…" He tried to think of what to say as he was trying to reply to his girlfriend. "I've only been dating her for six months."

"Are you going to marry her?"

"He's got her a necklace as a promise to protect her," Sherlock stated with a grin, giving his brother a sly glance as Sherrinford gave him an annoyed one.

Their mother gasped with happiness as the father grinned with approval. "Oh, Sherrin. You did?"

"Yes," he answered with irritation, clearly not fond of his nick name.

"Oh, goody," Mycroft began, voice dripping with sarcasm, joining the fun. "I get to go to a wedding."

"There is no wedding!" The middle bother snapped, shoving his phone into his pocket in annoyance.

Mr. Holmes looked at him with puzzlement. "So… We're _not _going to have grandkids?"

Sherrinford sighed, covering his face in utter annoyance.

"Just imagine Sherrinford being a father," Mycroft mused with a smile, then stood up. "Well, I better get to checking if England is still in one piece." The eldest brother approached his parents who stood up for a hug as he tolerated to do so.

"Take care, Myc," the mother said with a loving smile.

Mycroft just gave her a look of "That's not my name, but I can't do anything about it since your my mother". Then walked out of the flat, closing the door behind him.

The middle brother then stood up with a sigh. "Well, I better be going to."

Sherlock looked at his brother, hoping that he was not going to leave him alone with the parents. He loved them dearly like any son, but right now was not the time for them to hang around. There was work to be done.

Sherrin," the mother began with a gentle smile, earning both of the sons' attention. "I'm happy that you found someone special in your life and I do hope that we could meet her."

The detective cleared his throat. "She's lovely," he said, hoping that it was going to give his parents reassurance or at least to calm their eagerness. He looked at his family, who had their eyes on him. "She does care about him. Truly does." He smiled at his older brother, to actually show that he was proud that his brother found a good woman. He remembered the way she cried for him at the hospital and noticed that she would hold her necklace close. She loved him and even though it was a human error and her heart will break if she did lose as visa versa, he was glad in a way that his reckless older brother had someone to support him.

Sherrinford gave a small smile, silently thanking him for his words. And perhaps not just the words, but for helping her when he was in danger.

He then looked at his parents with half a shrug. "He would show you a photo of her, but he doesn't carry one for safety reasons."

His brother nodded in agreement and the look in his eyes was strong enough to show that he did love her. Then he smiled at his parents. "I hate to leave so soon, but I do have work that needs to taken care of. I do have your number, so I will call you."

Hearing those words, Sherlock looked at his brother with concern, who was hugging his parents. "Is everything alright?"

Sherrinford smiled at him. "Yeah. I've just got to run some errands."

The deceptive sighed. "Ran out of milk?"

"Yes," he flatly answered, unamused.

The detective nodded, understanding.


	22. Epilogue

Moriarty slowly paced in the old flat with his hands behind his back, thinking, as Sebastian Moran was laying on the old green couch, admiring his 32. caliber pistol. "So," the boss began in a thoughtful manner, "the Holmes brother got released from the hospital…"

"Yep," Sebastian answered. "Yesterday." He lowered the gun with a sigh of boredom, staring at the ceiling. "I thought he was going to die."

"So did I. Sherlock cheated," he sighed with disappointment, then looked at his right-hand man. "Someone had to die and obviously Sherrinford _didn't._" He looked away, not wanting to accept the truth. He planned it out so well, too. There was no way for Sherlock to save both of them without the other dying, but he should've known. Oh, he should've known that the detective would have thought of getting backup to go after one as he went for the other. He just did it too _good. _He hoping that somehow, someway, Sherlock would mess up and would get one of the hostages killed. No. They all lived.

"What now?" Sebastian asked.

"We finish the game." He looked at the blonde man. "We get Molly Hooper."

"Kill her?"

He shook his head. "Naw. We need to give Sherlock some fun." He looked around the flat as if he was looking for something to do. "This time… It'll be a little different."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay. There WILL be a continuation with this story in a sequel. Thank you so much for your support and glad you enjoyed. Look out for the second story and it may or may not be in the same name. I don't think it will… Anyway, thank you again!<strong>


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